


The House of Angmar

by TrashqueenofAngmar91



Series: Of Shadows and Tenderness [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Violence, But oh God do I try to keep people in character, Canonical Character Death, Confrontations, Dark fic, Dear God do you know how hard it is to write the Nazgul, F/M, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, If Frodo took the Ring for himself, If the Battle of the Morannon didn't happen, If the Witch-king survived, Kings & Queens, Major AU, Mentions of the Angmar-Arnor war, Or give them personalities aside from them being Sauron's slaves, Original Character Death(s), Possible OOC-ness, Reader is a woman, Reader is of the race of Man, Redemption, Sauron Being an Asshole, Soul Bond, Witchcraft, bad times, creative liberties were taken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 104,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashqueenofAngmar91/pseuds/TrashqueenofAngmar91
Summary: He did exactly as you requested of him. It wasn't as you preferred but at least they were with you once more. Now you must adapt to the new circumstances and step up to whatever the future holds for you.A rewrite of "Dirge of the Queen" and sequel to "Love Remembered".





	1. At the Request of the Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, still doing this! You guys may or may not have noticed I originally posted a continuation of the series some months back. But I erased it because honestly, it made me cringe and I thought it was bad. And not only that, I had more ideas and I thought it would be easier and more appropriate to just start anew and rewrite. So sorry for any inconvenience or confusion about the older story.
> 
> I also decided to name the Reader in this story since I plan on having this work have multiple chapters. It seemed easier to have a named picked out since there's a larger cast in this work too. The name is Isilmë but if you don't like it, feel free to ignore it or substitute it for another one you like. That's the only change I made regarding that. 
> 
> I'm still gonna be playing with the Witch-king's character a lot too. I know he already looks OOC considering the circumstances but I'm gonna try to keep him in character. Jesus, take the wheel LOL. Regardless. It should be interesting to say the least.
> 
> Also, Reader won't make an appearance in this chapter until the next. They'll be referred to in this one plenty of times but won't be seen til later. So just wanted to give a heads up for that. This chapter focuses more on Reader's family.
> 
> But anyway, that's all to really say about this particular work. Hopefully you guys enjoy it and thanks for reading!

Chapter 1 At the Request of the Queen

(approximately one year after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields – Weathertop)

One would think that under the cover of a moonless and cloudy night would grant security and stealth. It would be optimal for such a thing. One would think that they could move about unseen as they desired and remain invisible to the eyes of enemies. That would prove to be true if only their enemies weren't born and bred in darkness. If anything, such conditions proved disadvantageous and possibly perilous.

As swiftly and silently as they could, the small band of Dúnedain warriors moved through the miserable and moist mires that surrounded the base of the old fortification that was called Amon Sûl. Long ago, it was once an establishment of resilience and power for their ancestors but had been besieged and ultimately toppled. That had happened over a thousand years ago but the ruins still stood, casting a faint but still discerning silhouette in the inkiness of the evening.

The company of Númenor's descendants barely spoke and when they did so, it was with the quietest and softest of voices. They moved with great haste, hoping they could place enough distance between themselves and the enemy but they knew that a confrontation was inevitable. Without a doubt, Orcs were hot on their tail and were poised to close in and assault them. However, their greatest concern was not the foul creatures themselves. Instead, they moved with dire urgency to avoid who was leading this unsightly and unruly pack of Orcs.

"Venarion," one of the men spoke in a hushed voice to the youngest member of the party.

"Yes, Grandfather?" the shaken youth replied.

Aldahir put on a gentle and confident smile before his youngest grandchild. He gestured to the stony remains of the former bastion upon the hill.

"Do you know what lays just over there?" the warrior asked.

"Aye, it's Weathertop," Venarion answered.

"One of my ancestors was there when it fell to Angmar's siege long ago. As he is my forefather, he is yours as well."

"I know the tale, Grandfather."

"I know you do, my boy. But I want to remind you that this in our blood and this is our ultimate destiny. Since the beginning, we have been foes to the dark powers and that will never change. At this very spot, our ancestors stood in defiance to the servants of the evil and soon enough, we will do the same. The only reason we flee now is to get you, your mother and two sisters to safety."

"But Angwen said she would stand and fight…"

"Nay, I forbid it."

"She wants to stand and fight to avenge our eldest sibling! She fights for Isilmë's memory and honor!"

Aldahir fell silent as he recollected his beloved and lost grandchild. A year and a half had passed since she was taken and whisked off into the company of darkness. The pain of this loss still ached him terribly.

When his son, Kalahir, suddenly showed up at his encampment, he feared that something had gone horribly wrong. Kalahir was beside himself and struggled to explain to his father that his eldest child was seized by the lord of the Nine. At first, Aldahir had thought his only child had gone mad and was at first in skeptical disbelief over this development. But Kalahir didn't waver from his tale and his emotions were all too valid to be dismissed. His fevered words bore a weight that he couldn't shrug off. It was all too true. She was indeed gone.

Aldahir was overcome with grief and rage regarding these terrible tidings Kalahir delivered to him. His heart was torn to ribbons over this development and he immediately believed that his granddaughter was surely dead. He could only imagine what the Witch-king would do to her and he shuddered to think that she could possibly be in unspeakable torment and agony.

What was strangest of all was what Kalahir reported that she had said before she was officially thrust into custody of the Nazgûl. She said to not follow and she urged her family members to stay away for their own good. She stressed that if they didn't pursue her, they would be spared. The sacrifice of one life, her life, for the welfare of her relatives was what she desired.

However, Aldahir and his son were not deterred. Their hearts were hardened by sorrow and fury and their minds were made up. They would retrieve their kin if she was indeed alive and they would exact their revenge on the Nazgûl if they could. Aldahir and Kalahir hurried back to their home to inform their other family members of their intentions. Aldahir's eldest grandson, Mitharion, also decided to accompany his elders on their quest. Angwen, the youngest daughter, also volunteered but Kalahir denied her to embark on this journey.

The three generations of Men then departed from their dwelling and made their way to the East. They had faced danger along the way, narrowly avoiding bands of Orcs and other enemies. Through and over forests, rivers, mountains and plains they traversed, only stopping when it was necessary for rest or when the weather forbade them to go further. They travelled fast and hard and after some time, they ended up in the great, regal realm of Gondor.

They resided within the White City for some time, attempting to plot how to infiltrate Minas Morgul. They knew that three men could do nothing to fight the Morgul host. Cleverness and subterfuge would be their tools if they were to enter the cursed citadel of the Wraiths. They also decided it was best to not ask for any help as they would be surely discouraged from attempting such a grave and foolish venture.

But before the three potential rescuers could truly solidify their plan, the enemy came to them instead. Upon hearing and seeing that the forces of Minas Morgul were creeping in with the intent to raze Minas Tirith, Aldahir, Kalahir and Mitharion offered their swords and services to the Steward. Again, they kept their true quest a secret from all and resolved to embark on it when the battle concluded. They had no idea what would be in store for Gondor's men but they resolved to stay alive and fight with ferocity for their lost blood.

The battle was long, bloody and terrifying. Multiple times, the three of them thought that death was upon them. The screeches of the Nazgûl that flew overhead chilled and stilled their hearts but they attempted to remain stout and fight back the fiendish legions. Many close calls occurred but the family members managed to stand by one another and they fought side by side valiantly. They fought on and on even as the Orcs broke through the gates and entered the city.

As they fought, they kept watch for the Witch-king. It was decided between the three that if the Nazgûl was in their midst, they would confront him and demand the whereabouts and condition of their family member. They found out he did participate in the battle but none of them came across the chief Wraith.

In the end, all three had survived and lived to tell the tale. Concluding the battle, it was also revealed that their chieftain, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, had arrived and accepted his birthright at long last. Aldahir was moved that his leader had stepped up to the pedestal of power and prestige. With the presence of Aragorn, Aldahir was no longer compelled to secrecy. He believed that Aragorn would understand his blight and possibly give him his blessing to go forth. He also believed it was possible that attacking Minas Morgul while it was without its army would be a shrewd and advantageous maneuver.

Indeed, he did address Aragorn respectfully and explained his quest to him. Yet Aldahir departed from his audience disappointed and despondent. Aragorn wondered if Aldahir's eldest granddaughter was even still alive. He deemed it would be nigh impossible if she was alive after all this time and within the company of the Nazgûl. He further explained to Aldahir that it would be suicide to try to enter Minas Morgul even at this point as he stressed it was possible the Ringwraiths would suspect such an action, no matter how open or shadowy it was. Aldahir attempted to debate but Aragorn was sound in his judgment. The Heir of Isildur instead promised Aldahir he would be vigilant and be wary of any women who had been captured or seen coming from the direction of Minas Morgul. Aldahir also disclosed her name and appearance to him so he could properly identify her.

When Aldahir left his presence and relayed the news to his son and grandson, Kalahir and Mitharion were infuriated and saddened. Kalahir firmly believed his eldest child was still alive and he vowed to not rest until she was in his arms again. Mitharion was ready to openly disobey Aragorn and threatened to leave on his own to retrieve his sister. He stated he wasn't afraid to knock on the very doors of Minas Morgul and challenge the Witch-king to single combat on his own doorstep.

Aldahir was deeply troubled and conflicted and he was tempted to turn on his lord's will. While he knew going into Minas Morgul was possibly the most dangerous thing he could ever attempt, he simply couldn't bear the thought of abandoning his grandchild to despair and death if she was still alive.

In the end, fate decided things for him.

Shortly concluding the battle, a few Nazgûl were spotted flying to the West. Aragorn was disturbed by this unexpected move and he requested Aldahir, his son and grandson to follow them and see what the enemy was concocting. The three men were extremely reluctant to follow his order and again, they had him promise them to be watchful and wary. He gave them his word and honor and Aldahir, Kalahir and Mitharion at last departed Minas Tirith and made their way back to their homeland although they did so with heavy hearts.

They were almost happy that they did return to the westerly regions for they found that the Nazgûl were attempting to acquire Orcish allies in the Misty Mountains so that they could begin to assault the realms of the lesser Men and Hobbits. The trio eventually made it back to their home and told their remaining relatives that they had to abandon their house and land for their own safety. If they were to stay, they would most likely be allowing the enemy to ensnare them.

Ever since they returned, the family travelled together, trying to stay undercover and out of sight of the dark powers. Aldahir, Kalahir and Mitharion aided their fellow Dúnedain in any fights and skirmishes against the Orcs but it was obvious that the noose was tightening around them. The Rangers were being slaughtered and their already small numbers dwindled even further.

Things took a more frightening twist when a few soldiers who escaped some of those skirmishes reported something harrowing. Any Men who were left alive from the battles were captured and brought to the Witch-king himself for interrogation. Apparently, he was questioning these dying survivors, asking them for the whereabouts of Aldahir and his kin. This intelligence filled the Dúnedain man with such fear and he resolved to hide away the women and his youngest grandson from the inquisitive Nazgûl while he, Kalahir and Mitharion decided to at last meet the Witch-king.

Now Aldahir found himself by Weathertop with his family members and a few of his comrades. Their mission was to quickly find shelter and hide Kalahir's wife, Marigold, their daughters, Lithwen and Angwen and their youngest son, Venarion. They remained silent as they fled, keeping out for the subtle noise of beating wings in the wind or armored Orc feet squishing in the marshland around them.

"So do not be afraid, Venarion, my boy," Aldahir continued. "There is still hope and light even in these dark and trying times. Don't forget that."

"Grandfather, don't go to meet him, please!" Venarion begged. His voice started to rise as his panic closed in.

Aldahir gently hushed his grandson and scooped him up into his arms. Kalahir shot him a wary look. Aldahir nodded his head at his son and they still pressed on. Ever so slightly, their strides picked up.

"Isilmë, your sister," he told him, "don't you want closure about her? What does your heart tell you, Venarion? Mine tells me she still lives. I do not know how and why but I must know and I must see her again."

"I don't know," the boy whimpered.

"Then do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, my lad. You're going to a secret and secluded place with your mother and sisters. You will see your father, Mitharion and I again."

"Father!" Lithwen shouted as lowly as she could to Kalahir. "I think I hear footsteps behind us!"

Venarion began to cry and he buried his face into Aldahir's chest. The Dúnedain warrior stopped abruptly in his tracks and turned around, looking to see if his granddaughter was telling the truth or if she was imagining things. There was no room for error at this time as it could very well cost them immensely.

When he did that, the other members of the group followed suit. The night was so silent and dark and they could hardly make out anything in the blackness. The only sounds they could hear were their breathing that they tried to quiet and the pounding of their hearts in their ears. Desperately, their eyes tried to scan the inkiness and yet they could find nothing. All was much too quiet and calm. That lack of activity had convinced them something was amiss.

"Darling," Marigold whispered to her daughter, "do not frighten us like this unless if there is something upon us."

From the unmoving and quiet darkness that surrounded them, a stray arrow was fired. No one had any time to react and the only way they knew they had been ambushed was when the arrow made its mark.

Lithwen gasped loudly and fell to her knees as the deadly, rogue arrow struck her in her back, pierced her ribcage and lacerated one of her lungs instantly. Her knees sunk into the thick and sodden mud and she couldn't breathe. The pain was overwhelming and yet she could hardly react. It had overcome her and rendered her completely helpless and open.

Marigold screamed at the top of her lungs in horror upon seeing her second born was stricken by this arrow. She collapsed beside her daughter and tried to steady her as Lithwen's strength began to fail her.

When the mother cried out, they could suddenly hear their pursuers getting closer to their position. They could now hear the growls and roars of the Orcs as they advanced further.

"You must get up and run, Lithwen!" her mother practically screamed into her face.

Desperate, Marigold attempted to hoist Lithwen off her knees and onto her feet. However, the maiden wouldn't budge and she remained paralyzed in her spot, locked in pain. The fatal wound had drained her totally and she knew her time had come. Swiftly, she could feel her life was leaving her. Lithwen didn't react as her mother was practically dragging along.

"Get up or we all die, Sister!" said Angwen.

She assisted her mother in lifting Lithwen up. Together, Angwen and Marigold supported their family member, dragging her along as the females began to flee from the oncoming onslaught of Orcs.

Aldahir set Venarion down on his feet and drew his sword. As soon as he did that, Venarion bolted, following his mother and sisters. Aldahir took a few steps forward and mournfully looked on as he could see Lithwen's back became stained red while she bled profusely from her wound. As her sister and mother carried her along, she became limp and tears fell from his eyes as he saw her chances at survival were slim to none at this point. His hands tightened around his hilt and he grimly stared ahead at the snarling and howling Orcs that were closing in.

Kalahir was speechless and constricted by shock and dread as he saw this arrow smite his daughter. He nearly fell to the ground alongside her but all he could do was look on. His heart almost ceased to beat as he saw her quickly start to fade.

However, that shock quickly transformed into full blown rage and Kalahir let out a long, anguished cry into the night air. It seemed to even drown out the noise of the approaching Orcs. He drew his sword and recklessly charged towards the enemy, determined to kill as many as he could so he could avenge his daughter.

Mitharion cried out as well, emboldened by his father's bravery and reeling from his sister's bane. He readied his bow and shot an arrow forth, hoping that his own arrow would kill the very archer that had struck Lithwen. Right then and there, he knew he would meet his demise but he feared nothing.

"Our doom is upon us," one of Aldahir's fellow warriors told Marigold. He ran alongside them, making sure they wouldn't be attacked so long as he was with them. "You must take your children and flee. I will stay behind with the others and fight whatever numbers we face, regardless of the outcome. Do not stop until you can no longer run!"

The Ranger then held his ground, allowing them to run across the marshes. He drew his sword from his scabbard and waited for whatever fate had in store for him. He would welcome his death with open arms. However, he would take at least one Orc with him.

Kalahir clashed with the Orcs at the front. He collided with them and immediately engaged, swinging his blade about and hewing any limbs or heads that got too close to him. He was swiped at and some of them made glancing cuts to him but he barely paid any heed to these wounds. There were too many and that was to his steep disadvantage. He had fought bravely and mercilessly but it was not enough. One man could not hope to kill so many and he was promptly engulfed. It took half a dozen Orcs to finally encircle him and they struck him down, stabbing him to death as he fell to the wet earth.

Mitharion continued to wield his bow, striking a good portion of his targets even in the darkness. He knew most were lucky shots but from he knew he made his mark when he heard one of the beasts squeal in pain. Once they got closer to him, he forsook his bow and drew his dagger. He had managed to dispatch a few but he was savagely attacked by one of them a short time later. He was stabbed through his abdomen by a sword and then trampled as his attacker and his brethren chased after the fleeing Men.

Aldahir watched this horror unfold around him. He knew of the risks but the sight of it was still too much. His heart felt as if it had been torn from his chest. His son, grandson and granddaughter were now dead and he was next. But he maintained his stony resolve and held his ground. He wouldn't let his remaining family members perish. Death was a small price to pay for their continued survival.

Then he realized he had failed in his quest. His first grandchild's fate remained unknown to him. He would die without knowing of what became of her.

" _Isilmë_ ," he thought, " _if_ _you have indeed passed through the Halls of Mandos, I will see you soon. But if you are still in Middle Earth, be strong. Do not despair. Persist and do what you have been doing to survive. We will meet again. That promise I will keep to you and nothing will hinder me then_."

He could see the ferocious gleam in the fiendish eye of the Orc that raised its axe at him. Aldahir smirked at the belligerent beast and raised his sword. Without saying a word, he swung.

(…)

"Mother, I don't think Lithwen is with us anymore!"

"Hush, Angwen, keep running!"

The survivors could tell that they were reaching the end of the marshes. They could make out the shape of the tree line up ahead. Marigold and her remaining children hurried along, still carrying the limp and unmoving form of Lithwen. Marigold and Angwen barely even registered the weight they were dragging along as adrenaline raced through their bodies, pushing them onwards. Exhaustion wasn't even felt by them as they forced themselves to continue, knowing it was unwise to stop while they were no longer in the open like this.

Venarion fearfully glanced at Lithwen's shape and his jaw hung widely as he saw that her head was hanging low and her posture was lifeless. Blood stained her top heavily and the child was consumed by woe and fear. Such death and terror was too much for his young and fragile mind. He had already been under much strife after fleeing constantly with his relatives for the past few months but seeing his family members perish before his impressionable eyes was something else entirely for him.

"Mother, Lithwen is dead!" he cried out.

Marigold at last heeded the words of her children and reluctantly stopped to check on Lithwen's condition. She carefully yet quickly lowered herself with Angwen still assisting her. She turned her daughter over, seeing that Lithwen's eyes were wide open but they saw nothing. The light from them had all but vanished and her chest was still and unmoving.

Angwen choked down a strangled sob as she saw her elder sister truly was dead. She walked away and over to Venarion's side to try to compose herself. She turned her little brother away from the sight and covered his eyes with one of her hands, not wanting to expose him any further to the gruesome sight.

Marigold's eyes immediately started overflowing with tears and she pressed a kiss to Lithwen's forehead. Gently, she cradled her in her arms and held her close, unwilling to part with her or believe she truly had passed on.

"Mother, we have to press on!" Angwen pleaded. "You even said it, we have to get out of here!"

"I have lost nearly everything," Marigold said quietly. "First, the Nazgûl took my firstborn. Then an arrow claimed my second. And those monsters have undoubtedly claimed your grandfather, my third child and my beloved husband. All I have are my Angwen and Venarion…"

Angwen, seized by paranoia, temporarily left her brother's side and went over to her mother's. She attempted to pry her away from Lithwen's corpse and haul her up onto her feet once more. However, Marigold clung to her child's lifeless shape, unable to part with her. Disbelief and grief had a steel grip on her and she was immovable.

"Mother!" Angwen screamed. "They're upon us! Grandfather only had three companions with him besides us! If we don't move, we die!"

"I can't leave her behind!" Marigold argued.

"You must! There is no other choice! Come away with us! Come with us so we may live!"

She continued to wrestle her, using every bit of strength she had to pull her mother away. Marigold continued to resist, her reasoning severely impaired through all this turmoil.

"Mother, move!" Venarion yelled.

Angwen looked up when her brother said those words. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw an Orc that was closing in rapidly. The brute wielded a long and cruel spear and he was poised to toss it at any second.

"Go," Marigold almost inaudibly whispered to her surviving kin. "Do not stop. Live for us."

However, Angwen remained defiant and tried to drag her along to safety once more. She wouldn't abandon her mother to this fate.

Abruptly, Marigold shoved Angwen, knocking the teenage girl off balance and out of the way of the Orc's spear. She leaned towards the direction where her youngest daughter stood and Marigold took the spear directly to her chest, sacrificing herself for them.

Angwen shrieked in dismay and grief upon seeing the Orc had made his mark and instantly killed her mother. She regained her balance and sprung back up onto her feet. With her eyes blazing with vengeance and malice, she drew a dagger that was sitting in a leather scabbard around her waist.

"Die, you knave!" the maiden cursed.

The Orc was distracted temporarily as he attempted to pry his spear from Marigold's chest. He scarcely had any time to react as the furious girl tossed herself at him, roughly knocking him off his feet. She gave him no time to react and as soon as he hit the ground, she mercilessly sliced his throat open. When she did that, Angwen then plunged the blade into his chest, piercing his own heart in retribution.

Satisfied that she had executed the Orc, she drew back and at last let her grief swamp her. She couldn't bear to look at the figure of her mother, seeing that the spear was still lodged in her chest. Angwen's tears were freely flowing forth like a broken damn and she stumbled over to Venarion's side.

"Venarion!" she said. "Hold my hand and don't let go! We must get away from this terrible massacre and never look back!"

The boy's face was as pale as freshly fallen snow and he was weeping openly with her. Seeing the vicious death of his mother was yet another mark that had scarred his very soul. He couldn't look away from the sight and he was constricted by his emotions.

"Look at me!" his sister instructed. "There is no time for tears, we must flee! We must leave them, we have no choice! Venarion, I will not lose you! We only have each other now and with the Valar as my witness, I will not let you die!"

Before another word could be exchanged between the two survivors, a noise rang out across the marshy expanses. It was a painfully loud and blood chilling screech. It was so loud that they thought their ear drums were about to burst and they physically cringed at the volume of it. It nearly stilled their very hearts and they almost felt as if their feet were frozen solidly to the earth beneath them. This fell scream lasted nearly fifteen seconds and it ceased however its echo still eerily carried through the ancient site.

After that scream finally stopped, everything was deathly silent. They could no longer hear the Orcs in the distance. If it were even possible, it seemed even quieter than when they stopped just before Lithwen was struck. Venarion and Angwen were absolutely petrified and struggled to regain control of their bodies. Fear had a firm and ruthless grip on them and as much as they wanted to run away, they hesitated.

A few moments after the terrible silence began, it was shattered once more. They could hear a single pair of armored feet making their way over to where they were. It sounded brisk but was not moving too quickly either. The air around them suddenly seemed to become impossibly cold and they could see their breath at this point. In the distance, Angwen thought as if she had seen the shadows themselves coming to life and were making their way directly to her and Venarion. As oppressive and dense as the darkness was, her eyes had grown accustomed to it and she could've sworn she could see a definite shape creeping closer. It was tall, wore armor and it appeared as if the night itself was coming to smite her and her brother.

He was here.

Angwen scooped up Venarion into her arms and ran harder than she ever had in her entire life. His weight felt like a feather in her arms and she paid no heed to him. All she did was run, making her way to the tree line only a few hundred feet ahead. She ran so quickly, she almost felt as if she had eagle's wings on her ankles.

Venarion made no noise as she retreated, most likely being too horrified to react in the slightest. Like Angwen, he knew who was hunting them. He almost wished it was an Orc. If it was, then they had a chance at survival.

The Nazgûl shrieked again except this time it wasn't as long and as loud as the previous one. Angwen didn't dare to stop as she finally made it to the woods. She didn't slow and she kept running.

To her great horror, she could hear that he was gaining on them. She thought that perhaps she would beat him and lose him in the dense woods but he was quickly catching up. She could hear his feet crushing branches and crackling the dead leaves as he came closer. Angwen screamed, pushing herself to run even faster if it was remotely possible.

But at last, she saw it was for naught. There was the nagging and terrible truth that lingered in the back of her mind. He would be upon her and Venarion and he would strike both of them down. Escape was but a fleeting dream.

Angwen stopped suddenly and she released Venarion from her hold. She pushed him ahead, and held her ground.

"Venarion, run and hide and do not come back for me!" she commanded. "I will stay here so that you may live!"

There was so much fear and sadness in his eyes. She could tell that he wanted to argue with her. She could see that he wanted to remain with her and not abandon her to her fate. But Venarion knew she was making a sacrifice and he wouldn't let it be in vain.

"I love you, Angwen," he said mournfully.

Angwen only nodded her head and held her ground. The Wraith was closing in and he would be upon them in a moment. With a heavy heart, Venarion finally ran off. She watched her surviving sibling dash off into the dark forest, only hoping that he would have a chance and avoid the archaic menace that was stalking them.

Hearing that the Nazgûl was nearing her and ready to be within an arm's reach of her in a matter of seconds, she knelt down and picked up a thick and sturdy piece of an oak branch. She threw it at the cursed Man, hoping to have the creature focus entirely on her and give Venarion more time to run off and hide. To her dismay, the Ringwraith drew his sword in enough time and managed to cleave the branch in two before it could strike him.

Angwen held her ground and stared him down. She was terrified but she knew she had to be brave for the assured survival of her brother. The Nazgûl remained in his spot, his eyeless stare boring into her. His sword was still drawn but he made no move to come any closer.

"You have a selfless and stout heart," he said.

"Where is my sister?" Angwen demanded. "Speak plainly and truthfully! Which of them are you?"

"I am the one who has been hunting you and your kin. I am the one who has been running a vital errand for the Queen of Minas Morgul."

Her brows furrowed and she wrinkled her nose at his peculiar answer. She was unsure of what to think of his answer. As far as Angwen had known, Minas Morgul had been under the lordship of the Nazgûl for a thousand years and she was more than certain there was no supposed lady of the wretched, lost citadel. She was positive that this Wraith had to have been insulting her.

"Liar, there is no Morgul lady!" she stated. "You speak of nonsense and lies! There never was a queen and there never will be!"

"The Morgul Lady does indeed exist and she is my wife," he asserted. "But to you, she is called Isilmë. She has requested only one thing of me. She has asked me to retrieve her kin. Lady Angwen, you are her youngest sister, are you not?"

Angwen could only stare back at the Witch-king, totally dumbfounded and astonished by his words. She simply couldn't comprehend how this was possible. This knowledge that somehow, her sister was married to him had disturbed her immensely. She couldn't believe it and she felt that she'd never do such a thing. To her, this was some sort of evil trickery. It had to have been for it made no sense any other way.

"Aye, I am her sister," she admitted, "but I do not think she would ever marry the likes of you! You took her from us and you ruined our lives! Never would she submit to you!"

"She made that choice and we have been bound to one another," he said. "She is alive and well and she wants you to join her in Minas Morgul."

"I do not know if she really is alive! This could be some devilish ruse! You are the right hand of Sauron and who am I to believe a single word that comes from your mouth?"

"Your suspicions are understandable. But you have no real choice other than to trust me. Those filthy, unruly, stupid Orcs made a costly mistake and they attacked the wrong group of refugees we were tracking. Rest assured, they have paid the ultimate price. You are within my grasp and you are my wife's kin, therefore I will not release you. Five have died unnecessarily and I will not allow the remaining two to perish."

"The deaths of my father, mother, grandfather, brother and sister were mistakes?" She clenched her hands into fists. Fresh tears poured from her eyes. "I…I cannot make sense of anything!"

"Grieving will come later for we must retrieve Venarion."

"Hopefully he is long gone. If this is some trickery, then allow me to suffer it. My brother has seen too much on this terrible eve."

"What fate do you have to look forward to, young one?" At last, he sheathed his sword, allowing Angwen to relax somewhat. "I have provided a chance for you to reunite with your sister. Even if I gave you a choice, would you truly walk away and forgo the opportunity to be within her arms once more? What would become of you if I freely let you pass and you didn't accept? Orcs are running rampant and these wild lands have become harsher as of late. Undoubtedly, your fate would be uncertain and most likely would end up as unfortunate and miserable. If you accompany me, you will be reunited with Isilmë. She is my queen and I will accommodate you and Venarion accordingly. She will keep you safe and you will be treated with respect by all within those walls. Trust me, if you were not her kin, I wouldn't have hunted you down myself like this. All that I do is with good purpose."

To Angwen, this was madness. As much as she wanted to fight against and resist him, she knew he was right. She had longed to see her sister for so long. A year and a half passed since she was taken and now she could reunite with her. It was tempting but she feared that maybe this was all a trap. Fear and doubt held her captive and Angwen was unsure with how to progress.

Indeed, she knew that escape was simply impossible. She had no weapon and she knew she was vastly outclassed by the lord of the Nazgûl. No amount of running or pleading would change anything and fighting would be asinine. He would overcome her and strike her down if she had pushed his generosity and patience enough. Angwen knew that it was in her best interest to not push her luck for now at least.

Her family was indeed deceased and she had no one to turn to or a home to return to. The news of her eldest sibling's survival and subsequent crowning was indeed odd but not unwelcome in the slightest bit. As much as she wanted to resist him, she knew he was right. The Witch-king spoke the truth and she couldn't argue against those words. He was providing some sort of future for her even if she wasn't going to fully believe his claims that her sister was indeed still living. The thought of seeing her again was too powerful to ignore…

"Fine," Angwen decided, "my life is in your hands now, Witch-king. I can only hope that your words are true. I have nothing else to look forward to in these new and grim circumstances."

"Excellent, you have come to your senses and yielded to me," he said. "I did not want to force my hand unless if it was absolutely unnecessary. Now, come forth and walk with me. We must seek your brother."

Neither the Witch-king nor Angwen were prepared for the small but recognizable shape that emerged from the undergrowth a few seconds later. They held their ground, quickly identifying the youth that was walking slowly and cautiously towards them.

"Venarion!" Angwen said, shock in her voice. "I told you to flee and yet you never did?"

"Aye, I did at first," the boy revealed. "But I changed my mind. I couldn't leave you, Sister!"

He warily eyed the tall and daunting shape that stood by his surviving family member. Venarion was mortified but upon seeing the Witch-king didn't harm a hair upon her head, he was encouraged to approach. It was all so strange to him and as much as he wanted to disappear into the woods, he couldn't forsake his sister while she was still alive.

"Have you heard what I have told her, boy?" the Witch-king addressed the far smaller and timid shape.

"Aye, sir," he said in a mousy and mute voice. "Isilmë lives? And we are to go see her at last?"

"Indeed. Fear not, child. Since you are her kin, you are within my favor and protection. My duty is to ferry you to her and I shall follow her heart's desire."

Venarion finally stopped when he made it to Angwen's side. Her hand grasped onto his and the boy leaned into her side. Angwen tightened her grip on him, silently assuring him they wouldn't be parted again. Without any words, they promised one another they would never be separated.

"Seven there should have been but only two are in my midst." The Witch-king had a distinct air of disappointment and anger in his voice. "Yet all was not an abysmal failure. Follow me and I will fulfill my oath. But first, we must collect your beloved dead and give them peace."

He turned and walked off towards the scene of the slaughter. The two siblings hesitated for a few seconds but held one another's hands and made their way into the very heart of darkness that lay before them.


	2. Woes and Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you receive some welcome guests but terrible news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter appears familiar to you, you have seen it before in the original story! I decided to take some snippets from the older work and insert it into here but there are some newer parts in here too. They worked well with recapping the time jump between this and the prequel story so I went ahead and kept some of the older material. 
> 
> Anyway, please read on and enjoy!

Chapter 2 Woes and Worry

You hadn't been able to sleep soundly for quite a few days now. Ever since you felt the rage and wrath that manifested abruptly in your heart, you knew all was not well. Something was horribly wrong and it filled you with anxiety and dread. Rest wouldn't grace you until you knew what the cause of this turmoil was.

However, the anger you felt was not your own. It was that of your other half. A link had been established between you and him and you could feel each other's respective emotions even from across vast miles and expansive nations. What had happened to him exactly was something you could only guess.

Ever since that night, you wandered about the citadel of Minas Morgul, waiting for any news to come about. You needed answers and for as long as you were starved of those, it worried you more and more. The thought of being denied any sort of knowledge over this was grating on your nerves. Closure was what mattered and in your heart, you knew things had to have taken a very unfortunate turn. But the days dragged by and nothing reached you as of yet. Once more, you urged yourself patience.

Reading would not soothe you. You also took up knitting in your spare time but that also couldn't be utilized to channel and dispel the nervous energy that was rife in you. You feared that you would succumb to madness if you weren't given some sort of explanation sooner or later.

"My lady!"

You nearly jumped when you heard the gruff voice and then the subsequent rapping on the door. You had been so embroiled and distracted by your thoughts and inner turmoil, you nearly forgot about the environment around you. Instantly, you recognized the voice, realizing it was one of your personal servants.

"Yes, Berwûld?" you called back. You started to make your way over to the door.

"I only wanted to see if perhaps you wanted some wine, my lady," the Orc said.

A moment later, you were at the door to your suite. You opened it up, quickly catching sight of the short, stout, greenish-yellow Orc. He smiled at you, displaying his array of rotted and mismatched teeth. His leather eye patch still was pulled down over his long relinquished left eye. He was mostly bald and wore a crude cap to conceal what little, sparse hairs that covered his skull.

Despite your distaste and discomfort with the Orcs, Berwûld was an exception. He was one of the less brutish and more civilized individuals of his kind and was rather polite. He treated you with respect and was always accommodating towards you. That kindness allowed you to lower your guard towards him and enabled you to come out of your shell and trust him.

"I fear wine will only make things worse," you divulged. "My nerves are still shaken."

Berwûld nodded his head and gave you a light bow.

"Of course," he said. "If you change your mind, please, let me know, your ladyship. I am at your service."

"Thank you, Berwûld," you replied. "I will safely say no for now. But if I cannot sleep later, I may ask of you to fetch me a goblet of wine. That may help me slumber at least a little."

"Certainly. Do not trouble yourself too much, my lady. You are safe and kept well within these walls. I know some months have passed since the master has departed for the West but don't fret."

After saying those words, the servant gave you another bow and quietly left your presence. As he began to walk away, you closed the door and sighed heavily. Slowly, you retreated deeper into your suite and decided to rest on your bed. Perhaps peace would be merciful and you would find some temporary solace in sleep.

To you, it felt as if time was slowing to a near standstill in this citadel. In reality, not much of it had gone by since that faithful day when you agreed to be the Witch-king's bride. Already, it felt as if you had been within Minas Morgul for a whole age.

It had been a year since the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. At first, you thought that perhaps the Morgul host would be victorious but you quickly learned that an army of the dead had come from nowhere and had slain all of Gondor's foes in their wake when it appeared that the great kingdom's doom was closing in. Even the Witch-king's Haradrim reinforcements fell before the might of this unearthly legion. An army of Rohirrim soldiers also came to Gondor's aid which further helped to contributed to the Witch-king's defeat.

Sauron himself called out to his Nazgûl who participated in the assault, ordering them to pull back to Minas Morgul in the wake of these unforeseen defenders. The Orcs and the Haradrim were all but wiped out. Yet all of the Wraiths had survived the attack. The Dark Lord was infuriated by this twist and he ordered for his armies to be rebuilt for another planned strike against the dominion of Men. He decreed that the new army would be larger and more terrifying than the former. The Lord of Mordor also stressed that the slaying of Isildur's heir was another primary objective that needed to be achieved as soon as possible.

Upon learning of the defeat of the dark forces, you were overjoyed. Because of this victory for Gondor, that meant the rest of Middle Earth would have more time to prepare for the coming storm. Armies and men would be mustered and they would be better prepared. Not only that, the Ring had yet to turn up. So long as the Ring remained out of Sauron's grasp, the odds would possibly be in the favor of the Men.

You recalled vividly how the Witch-king was so angered and ashamed in the midst of his defeat. You were reluctant to approach him as he hid himself away within the sanctity of his study. For a full day, he remained within that room and you resolved to stay far away from that section of his quarters. There was no desire in your heart to get in his way while he was stewing over his loss. Before he left his citadel, he was so confident and assured of his victory. He was certain he'd be able to subdue Gondor and sit upon the long unoccupied throne of the king, claiming it for his master in Mordor.

After that day of brooding isolation had passed, he emerged from his study. As soon as he did so, he confronted you. You felt some pity for him because you were sure he undoubtedly faced the wrath of Sauron for this failure. It felt that the longer you were by his side, the more sympathetic you felt. While your empathy for the Witch-king grew ever so steadily, your ire towards the Dark Lord sweltered within your heart.

Then he disclosed to you the story of the battle.

He confided to you that he was locked in battle with a lone Rohirrim soldier who stood up to defend and avenge his fallen king from the Witch-king. As he continued the fight, the soldier's helmet was knocked off during the duel and it was revealed this valiant warrior was actually a woman.

You remembered how silent the Witch-king was at that part in his narrative. He said that he was caught off guard and shocked by this twist. Instead of continuing this fight, he ordered her to stand down, explaining he wouldn't cut down a woman. He went on, saying there was this wrathful fire in her eyes as he uttered those words and she renewed her fight against him despite her exhaustion. She forced his hand and to stop her from continuing her assault, he shattered her arm. That had incapacitated the vengeful shieldmaiden and he hastily left her midst.

Only a few short minutes after he ended their fight, he recalled he was beset upon by throngs of soldiers of the dead. He fought them back but could do little to deter them since they were already deceased and he couldn't make them die a second death. With the arrival of this supernatural army, Sauron ordered his greatest servants to pull away, seeing that the battle was lost. The Orcs and the Haradrim could do nothing against the impervious might of this second ally that rushed to save Gondor.

This tale was unbelievable to you. You didn't expect that Rohan would come to assist Gondor in the nick of time and even stranger was the account of this unstoppable army of the dead. In your mind, this almost started to feel as if this was providence if all these things happened. Minas Tirith had withstood against the enemy and had been spared from the lordship of the Nazgûl. Your heart was all too glad with the results of this and some of your hope had been renewed with this outcome.

What particularly intrigued you was the fight this fearless female warrior had with the Witch-king. With the reveal of her true nature, you had assumed he would've slain her regardless. However, he told her to cease so he wouldn't kill her. She refused and still tried to carry on and it only ended when he rendered her incapable of doing so. He had injured her but he didn't finish her off.

The Witch-king said that although he wasn't given a victory, he still desired to wed you. While he told you all about the battle, you nearly forgot about your agreement. When he mentioned it to you, you remembered. You still decided to go through with it, knowing that there wasn't much else you could do. This news of the fight against the shieldmaiden made you think that perhaps there was some influence upon him already. It was encouraging and you informed him you still would follow through with the marriage.

As it turned out, the ceremony was very simple. It was almost too easy in your eyes and you half expected there to be some sort of more complicated rite to it. There were also no witnesses and the only people present were you, your groom and the overseer who would seal your bond.

A greater and trusted emissary of Sauron was sent to your presence so he could officially proclaim that you and your groom would be joined. He was a wretched and ugly creature and he chilled your heart. You saw nothing of his face except for his lower jaw and his unsightly array of rotted teeth. His voice was like an assault on your ears and you longed to be out of his midst despite how briefly he was with you. To you, he was nothing more than a repulsive cretin but in all actuality, he was of the race of Men. Specifically, he was a Black Númenorean.

Even the Witch-king didn't particularly care for the Mouth of Sauron's presence. He held your hand for the entire ceremony and kept close to your side. The Mouth began by saying a few words, specifically how Sauron personally had granted the both of you permission to be joined in his eyes.

As you held your groom's hand, it felt as if the coldest ice was travelling up your arm and it worked its way through the rest of your body. It was painful but you ground your teeth and bore with it for as long as necessary. You were determined to not show any weakness during this. You felt as if this was part of the ceremony and you believed there was some foul witchcraft that was binding you to the Witch-king that the Mouth was administering, thereby solidifying your bond in the eyes of Sauron. When you considered that theory, you feared for your being, thinking that perhaps you were being molded to the enemy's vision.

But after the Mouth finished speaking, the pain subsided and you were filled with an immense amount of relief. He left as soon as it was concluded and you felt yourself buckle and grow weak from the pain you experienced. Your husband supported you, holding you up and preventing you from collapsing in a heap.

The Witch-king explained to you that a binding magic was indeed placed on you. You were now no longer capable of being affected by the Nazgûls' aura; the Black Breath. Their dreadful ability wouldn't cause you to weaken or sicken. This magic also entwined your soul with his. What that meant was that you two could feel each other's respective feelings and emotions, regardless of the distance. Just as you had been bound to him, he was tethered to you as well.

Due to you being wedded to him, you expected the subject of consummation would be brought up. But to your surprise, he never mentioned anything about that. Some time had passed after the ceremony and still nothing was ever discussed or even remotely hinted to such an action. In all honesty, you felt blessed and fortunate that you wouldn't be required to do such a thing. You were certain you might possibly die if you would join with him in that way. If you could avoid this wifely duty, you would try to do so. If he wasn't going to mention it, you certainly weren't going to bring up the matter either.

Currently, the Witch-king was in the West, past the Misty Mountains as per Sauron's orders. He was busy trying to subdue any forces from rising up and trying to join Gondor's forces and help defy Mordor. He along with some of the other Wraiths went with him while the remainders stayed behind and dealt with the threat closer to their master's dark domain.

There was also supposed talk of possibly trying to resurrect the old realm of Angmar as well. If it was to be raised from its ashes, its sole purpose would be to be lay waste to the West and push any enemies towards the easterly regions and into the maw of Mordor. Sauron's enemies would be forced to fight a war on both fronts and they would be quickly exhausted. But you had heard only hearsay of such a plot and didn't know if it would ever truly come into fruition. From what you had learned and read of Angmar, it was laid to waste and ultimately destroyed by the combined forces of Gondor and the Elves.

Before he left, you reminded the Witch-king of your only wish and he didn't scorn it. While he would be abroad in the West, he'd seek and acquire your family members. They were to be delivered back to Minas Morgul to you, alive, intact and unspoiled. He promised you that he would find them and heed your request. He was unsure of how long it would take to locate them but he'd do what he could to find them.

Some months passed since he had been sent out and there was still no word on your family members. You grew more anxious and concerned but you placed your faith in both your husband and your relatives. It was more than likely your grandfather led them to safety and was in hiding with them. He would take care of them and he had your complete trust and admiration. You never doubted your grandparent's strength, cleverness and resourcefulness. All you hoped was that the Witch-king would safely secure them and urge them to come along cooperatively to where you resided.

Your thoughts and private recollections were then suddenly shuttered when you heard some sort of commotion outside your window. You hurried over to it and peered directly below. Some several hundred feet away from your spot, Orcs were hurrying about and hollering at each other. You could hardly make out what they were saying to their brethren but you managed to hear a few snippets of their exchanges.

"…king is here, look alive, you stinking vermin!"

"Straighten up and don't slack or he'll have your guts!"

"I don't want to be a test subject for his witchcraft! Let me trade posts with you!"

"He has brought strangers with him!"

Your heart nearly skipped a few beats as you realized what was most likely occurring. Your eyes widened and you started to back away from the window, hoping you weren't spotted by anyone.

Without delay, you swiftly yet quietly closed the window, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself or look as if you were eavesdropping. You raced across to the other side of the bed chamber and pulled down the tapestry you had attempted to work on earlier and was hung upon the stony wall. The tapestry was of an apple tree and at its base grew a single white rose. You then sat down on the chair beside your bed, attempting to look as if you were busy inspecting your work.

You waited. A few minutes had passed and your left foot was bobbing nervously as you anxiously anticipated what was coming. Your heart hammered against your sternum and your eyes flitted from the door located at the far side of the chamber and to the tapestry.

From what you could gather, the Witch-king was most likely present. The Nazgûl had largely inspired terror and anxiety in the hearts of their Orc subordinates but the Witch-king was even more horrific in their eyes than any other Wraith. He inspired discipline and dread in them. Whenever he was present, the Orcs were always seemingly rigid and efficient. When he left their midst, they felt as if they could breathe once more and were at ease. You found it peculiar that both Men and Orcs had an aversion to the Witch-king and held him in fearful regard.

The talk of strangers being with him most likely pertained to your relatives. It appeared that at last, he had retrieved them and was bringing them to you. Your heart would've been leaping for joy but you also couldn't forget about his anger that had burned so brightly and hotly earlier. This didn't sit well with you and you were more nervous than pleased.

Some more minutes had passed and you nearly tossed your tapestry aside when you heard loud, enthusiastic, incessant knocking against your door. You leapt to your feet and dashed over to the door. Without thinking, you opened it up and you were beheld whom laid upon the other side.

Before your eyes stood a girl who was no older than seventeen. Her hair was the exact same color as yours and her eyes were colored gray. Her clothes were dirtied and torn and it looked as if she had been through a great ordeal. Her eyes widened and she was staring back at you intensely.

Next to this maiden, there stood a boy who was no older than ten. His eyes had the same color and hue as yours did and his hair was dark brown. Like his companion, he looked unkempt and afflicted. Fresh tears were on the cusps of his eyelids and he looked as if he was about to come undone at any given moment.

It felt like a long time as you and the duo gazed back at one another. Indeed, they were familiar to you. And most importantly, they were near and dear to you. Time had changed them and they had grown and matured but you recognized your brother and sister.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Angwen spoke shakily. "Has the Witch-king enchanted me and made me perceive a cruel lie? Are you my eldest sibling? Are you my sister? Are you Isilmë?"

The tears that poured from your eyes came from nowhere. Your left arm encircled Angwen and your right drew around Venarion. You drew them into the room, making them leave the corridor. When they stepped into the foyer, you wept and drew them into a tight embrace.

No words were spoken between the three of you. All of you learned this was no conjured illusion once the tears were shed and you were so close to one another. You wept together, overjoyed to see they were alive and were in your life once more.

None of you could work up any words and instead focused on expressing yourselves. All that was experienced were raw emotions of relief, sadness and joy. The reality simply needed to sink in.

Some minutes had passed and you remained close to one another. No one released each other and you all felt secure and at peace like this. The weeping had died down but emotions still churned wildly.

"You two cannot possibly comprehend how much I have missed you," you told your siblings. "I have waited, prayed and hoped in this place for what I thought was an eternity. But I am blessed to finally have you two with me once more."

"Sister, we have missed you greatly!" Venarion said. "I thought that they had tortured and killed you!"

"Nay, I am alive." You kissed him on his forehead. "I am alive and here."

"What you say is true?" Angwen pressed. "You are the queen of this realm?"

"I am. I have been wedded to him."

Still, this look of disbelief plagued Angwen. She appeared perplexed and disturbed by this knowledge. However, she shook her head and exhaled deeply.

"I do not understand how," she said. "He told us and I called him a liar. But I have heard the truth from you and I cannot comprehend."

"It is not important," you assured her. "I am all too happy to see my youngest brother and sister but where are the others? Where is Grandfather, Mother and Father? Where is Lithwen and Mitharion? Are they still with my husband?"

A cold silence fell over Angwen and Venarion. They looked agonized at the very mention of their kin. They were still hurt and sorrowful over their untimely ends and they saw they had yet to inform you of it.

The uneasy quiet and their expressions made you sick. You immediately knew something was obviously wrong and out of place. The reluctance and pain on their faces made your anxiety resurface once more.

"We are the only survivors," Venarion revealed.

"Orcs ambushed us at Weathertop and they killed everyone there," Angwen explained with great grief. "We only survived because the Witch-king stepped in and sought us himself. He has avenged our family by executing the Orcs responsible and he said it was a tragic mistake that they made. They attacked the wrong band of refugees they were hunting. He has taken our relatives and laid them to rest beneath a birch. He has also placed a spell of concealment and a curse upon it so that none may disturb them."

Time itself seemed to stand still around you. For a moment, it felt as if the whole of Middle Earth seemed to no longer exist. You felt incredibly chilled and numb as Angwen's account sunk in. Your heart felt as if it had been violently torn out of your chest and you had a hard time breathing evenly.

You suddenly realized the Witch-king had been silently and calmly watching your exchange with your family in the hallway, just beyond your door. He stood there, ghostly and unmoving as his eyeless stare peered back at you. You couldn't tear your eyes from his form and you could only imagine how your family had faced such gruesome and premature ends. For as long as you stared back at him, you suddenly understood why the fury he felt earlier. He had experienced that when he learned the Orcs had assaulted your kin.

But it did nothing for you. Your family had been slaughtered and you would never see them again. The only reminders that they had existed would be in your sibling's faces and the near and dear memories you shared with them. Nevermore would you hear the sounds of their voices or hold one of their hands in yours.

The tears renewed themselves once more. Guilt now manifested in you, mixing in with the grief and anger that was damming up rapidly. Your vision became watery and your vision of the Nazgûl king was distorted. Your throat clenched and your jaws gritted tightly.

At last, you let out a tormented scream and you felt as if your very soul had been set ablaze.


	3. The Burden of the Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The existence of a Nazgûl is a troubled and tragic matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I like headcanons and I indulged in them majorly in this chapter. I tried to make the Nazgûl more sympathetic and show them in a more sorrowful light. Because honestly, the fading and seduction of those men has to be quite sad. It's a shame Tolkien never really discussed their previous lives but oh well. That's what fan fiction is for!
> 
> Please read on and enjoy.

Chapter 3 The Burden of the Kings

(a few days later)

" _You are troubled._ "

His writing hand twitched and he dropped his quill. The writing abruptly ceased upon hearing the invading voice resound inside of him. He was completely still as he felt the presence fester and encircle his mind, knowing instantly who was speaking with him. There was no mistaking who this was.

The voice rang out suddenly and clearly in his mind. Only seconds earlier, the Witch-king had been sitting quietly in his study, pouring over ancient manuscripts and maps. Earlier, he retired to that chamber, hoping to have a rare moment to pour over his collection of knowledge and artifacts on his own time. Sometimes, he felt some remote semblance of peace and solitude within that particular room. No one was in his midst and he would not have to interact with anyone.

But he was currently forbidden to study and peruse. This was a presence he couldn't delay or ignore. There was only one whom he answered to and perpetually feared.

 _"I know this to be true,_ " the voice sounded again in his mind.

" _Nay, Master, I am fine,_ " the Witch-king replied.

" _You are lying to me and you know it. You know it is most unwise to try to hide anything from me. There is discord in you. I feel it._ "

" _It is nothing of great significance to you, Master. It is merely a weight on me and no other._ "

" _Is that so? Allow to me enlighten you, my most faithful and greatest servant._ "

The image of the great, flaming Eye nearly seared his mind's eye as it appeared in it. He could feel Sauron invade and take control of his being, laying his mind bare before the power of the fallen Maiar. He couldn't move and he dared not to even think as his lord infiltrated his being. Nothing could ever be kept a secret from Sauron if one was a Nazgûl. He always found out if anything was attempted to be hidden.

" _Many times, I have been generous towards you, Witch-king,_ " the Dark Lord reminded him. " _You have been in my favor for so long. You are accomplished and you are amongst my most loyal and efficient servants. You are not the lord of the Nazgûl so arbitrarily. I have rewarded you accordingly. I have also allowed you to have that trophy that you have subsequently married and have henceforth called your wife_."

" _Master, this is what you believe is troubling me?_ " he asked.

" _Indeed. She is certainly the spitting image of your first wife. That was why you even bothered with her, is it not?_ "

" _Yes_."

" _She is ever on your mind. I do not hope this becomes a grave concern._ "

" _It will not. I have been doing your will and I fulfilled her only wish a few days ago_."

The laughter that echoed in his mind was grating and mocking. The Witch-king merely kept himself humble and urged himself to not lash out defensively.

" _That was a botched attempt at appeasing her,_ " Sauron sneered. " _You should know by now that you are an agent of death and destruction. Capturing and sustaining subjects is not your forte._ "

" _It was a costly mistake,_ " the lesser being replied.

" _Ever since you have encountered her and brought her to your domain, I have sensed disturbances. Your resurgences are becoming more frequent and you will force me to subjugate you as I periodically must do so. It is so strange. The other Nazgûl have certainly not been blind to your doings and they are starting to resurge as well. Just by watching you, they have been distracted. It is becoming infectious._ "

" _Master, I promise you that nothing will come about from this_."

" _One of the Nine remembered his family after so many years. I had to…correct him for reflecting on that_."

Every once in awhile, the Nazgûl needed to be managed by Sauron. He would infiltrate their minds, suppressing them of any resurging memories from their past lives or quashing any remnants of their former selves. Sometimes, they would experience those shreds of their past and that would sometimes lead them to rebellious thoughts and a desire for freedom from their enslavement. Fragments of their formers selves would very rarely peek through and when it happened, Sauron was infuriated.

As encompassing, oppressive and complete as his hold was on them, it wasn't without those peculiar flaws. Sometimes, the scope of these resurgences would fluctuate. Typically, when Sauron's power was weakest, they were somewhat more independent and prone to these incidents. However, when his power was greater, he could exercise more control on them. He could mold them and reshape them as he saw fit.

Sometimes there were memories of their past that couldn't be completely erased. Such things were only fragments that they could vaguely recall. There were other pieces of their recollection that were incomplete. Each Wraith was a different case and each remembered different things from their former lives.

And even after all these years, none of the Nazgûl ever discussed amongst one another of their lost and clouded memories. They never spoke of the abuse their master subjected to them but every single one knew that his comrades all suffered and were corrected as needed. They merely suffered in silence and did exactly as their master ordered. There was simply no other alternative or reality that they could hope to achieve. They were totally enslaved and they knew it.

" _It is you who concerns me the most, Witch-king_ ," he continued. " _You were the last of the Nazgûl to join me because you resisted the longest. You fought and impeded my call but in the end, I broke you and acquired you into my ranks. You were a Man of Númenor but even then, I didn't anticipate that you would be so stubborn and obstinate. You fought and fought, only to fail. Like all other Men, you are, at your core, weak and malleable._ "

The Witch-king could only remain silent. He sat unflinching while Sauron perused through his mind. He wouldn't forget the image of Sauron and the other Wraiths descending upon him and dragging him away into the darkness. They had ensnared him and he joined them. He had indeed fought long and hard against the pull of his ring. His corruption was a gradual one but eventually, it completed its ultimate task and bound him to darkness.

He could feel Sauron dig deeper and he was viciously reminded of the last, grim memory of his first wife. She tried to grasp onto the hand that bore his ring in an effort to pull it off his finger. He reacted explosively and he had no idea where this sudden outburst of fury came from. He overpowered her, violently pushing her backwards and smashing her skull against the stone wall of their bed chamber repeatedly. Again and again, he did it until she went limp and her skull was reduced to a bloody pulp.

After her murder, it was as if he suddenly regained control of himself. He stood in place, stunned at the gory and gruesome sight, disbelieving what he had done…

" _You killed the woman you loved dearly when she wanted you to part with your ring,_ " Sauron resumed. " _Your wife, the one you had planned on spending many years and begetting offspring with, was slain in a fit of rage. It only showed just how impressionable and fickle you were._ "

One of the Witch-king's gauntlet clad hands balled up into fist slowly. He was more than aware his lord was torturing and shaming him and as it persisted, his anger started to simmer slowly but surely.

" _She died because of that ring you gave me_ ," he retorted.

" _Mind your tone, cur!_ " Sauron hissed.

A searing pain radiated through his immaterial shape and the intensity of the Eye only increased. It felt as if his incorporeal flesh was boiling and at any moment, he believed he was about to burst into flames.

" _You had a choice_ ," Sauron reminded him. " _Every single one of you lot did. You only had to answer with 'yea' or 'nay'. You chose and you sealed your own fate. You had no one to blame other than yourself. This fault is entirely your own._ "

" _You deceived me_!" the Witch-king countered. His anger had erupted as Sauron was inflicting this terrible agony onto him. " _I took my ring for the good of my people! I took it with a noble heart! You gave it to me so you could poison and ensnare me!_ "

" _And it worked perfectly, didn't it? But your reign did prosper and your people were happy… Yet it did not last for long. Yes, your ring did grant you power, wealth and glory and it didn't disappoint you. However, all good things must come to an end, my friend. Your repayment for those good times was your servitude to me_."

" _You have ruined me! I became distant to those around me and I eventually started to fade. I fell from grace and I began my transition into a creature of the shadows. My mind began to cloud and I forgot my name in time. I still cannot remember it and perhaps I never will recover it._ "

" _Nay, I only improved you and molded you into something greater than you ever could dream of being, you pathetic worm! You do indeed have a name and many fear it. You are the Witch-king of Angmar, greatest of the Nine. That is the only identity that you could ever need._ "

He knew he was powerless. He was hopelessly chained and bound to Sauron. Any hope of escape from his influence had been lost thousands of years ago. But the Witch-king still couldn't suppress this rage that he was experiencing. However, this wasn't the first time he held this animosity towards Sauron. It was always lurking beneath even if he forgot it at times. It was ever present and this black-tinted flame would never smolder.

" _I hate you…_ " the Nazgûl snarled.

" _That is fine_ ," the Dark Lord replied smugly. " _Your hate and anger is a powerful tool which I will be more than pleased to utilize. Remember that in the end, you are mine to control and bid as I do so. You answer to me. I will also not hesitate to correct you as needed. The punishment will be dire, I promise you this. If you don't want to lose your second wife, you will do as you are told. If you persist, she will perish. Do not forget I have your eternal allegiance as well. Keep yourself in check, Witch-king, or I will see to it that you suffer greatly. Remember that you are absolutely nothing without my power_."

At last, the Witch-king could feel Sauron retreating and loosening his hold on his mind. He remained still as he felt him dissipate and no longer could he see the Eye. He felt as if he could move more freely and he no longer felt the heavy and looming presence.

While Sauron had disappeared, his fury still remained. As soon as he felt that he had control of his body once more, the Witch-king at last reacted.

A horrible, blood chilling scream emitted from that blackened hood and he effortlessly flipped his desk over. Manuscripts, maps and books were sent flying in all directions. The chair he had been sitting on was picked up and flung across to the other side of the room. As soon as the chair made impact with the wall, it shattered and fell into a splintered heap on the cold floor.

He fell to his knees and he clawed at the floor. The unsettling sound of sharpened, metal fingertips scrapping against the stone floor rang out, mixing in with his angered hisses and shrieks.

He kneeled upon the floor and cursed himself, hating himself for what he had done and what he would be forced to endure forever.

(…)

You felt the trembling in your heart and once more you experienced that terrible ire. Your head turned to the direction where his quarters lay and you could very well hear the muffled but still noticeable screams he released. It still chilled your heart to hear those dreadful noises and you had a feeling it wouldn't ever change.

Even as he screamed, Angwen and Venarion still slept. They laid upon the same bed together, keeping close as they slept in the middle. They had been through much stress and grief and such strife had taken a toll on them. The two had been sleeping for quite awhile and even now, they showed no signs of stirring. You kept watch over them, telling them earlier you wouldn't leave them as they wanted to rest. You sat on a chair by the bed, not even reading a book and only having the company of your thoughts.

Ever since the instant you found out about the death of your family members, the Witch-king kept away. The sole comfort you had in this aftermath was the companionship and mutual grief you shared with your surviving relatives. Together, the three of you wept over your kin and kept close.

They told you everything about the incident. Their stories were consistent and you truly believed that the demise of your relatives was an accident. At first, you would've been more than ready to assume that perhaps the Witch-king had been responsible for allowing your other family members to die. You still had yet to question him and admittedly, for the past few days, you were in no mood to even see him. You had been happy he seemingly disappeared while you remained with your siblings. But you could feel his presence in Minas Morgul so that only assured you that while you hadn't seen him, he didn't vanish by any means.

Since the arrival of your brother and sister, the denizens of Minas Morgul were instructed to not set a harmful hand upon them. You were sure that some Orcs were unhappy with this decree but they dared to not violate the Witch-king's command. Since they were the kin to the Morgul lady, they were deemed to be treated with respect and not as captives.

They were also given their own separate quarters yet Angwen and Venarion shared the same chambers for the time being. Neither was willing to part with one another in such a place. They were still wrought with fear with even being in this citadel. It would take them time to get used to them and you had hoped that the Black Breath wouldn't affect them so quickly. Whereas you had acquired immunity to it, they were still vulnerable. Regardless, you would console and protect your remaining blood no matter what.

Apparently your other family members had been buried and you were determined to visit their grave in time. You couldn't bear to do it at that moment or you feared you would perish upon the tomb. If that was the case, you would be interred with them. You also couldn't bear the thought of dying of a broken heart and allowing Angwen and Venarion to languish without you. You believed that if you were to die and they were left alone, they would not be treated kindly. To you, it was more than likely that they would be cast out or the Orcs would be let loose upon them.

While you felt numb and hollow from the heavy and grievous loss, you decided you could no longer wait another moment. You needed to see the Witch-king and confront him while Angwen and Venarion slept away. While they were lost in their dreams, you would speak to him. It was the perfect opportunity in your mind.

You could still sense the anger that dwelled within him but you mustered up your courage. You would do this and not wait any longer. All the patience you had was now spent.

As quietly as possible, you left the comfort of your chair and exited their chambers. Softly, you shut the door behind you and made your way over to the quarters you shared with your consort. You kept your mind clear and your footfalls were brisk.

You travelled up a flight of stairs and down a torch-lit corridor. At the very end of the hall rested your chambers. You made your way over to the entrance and took a deep breath.

You walked in, seeing he wasn't in the bedroom. It occurred to you he was most likely in his study. You entered the adjacent room, seeing that the door to the study was tightly shut. Usually it was open so that made you believe he loomed within that room.

You knocked on the door.

"Enter," you heard him say after a few seconds of uneasy silence.

Now you hesitated but you forced yourself to press on. You turned the knob and pushed the door open. As soon as you looked into the room, your eyes were wide with shock and disbelief.

Before your very eyes was a scene of carnage and chaos. His desk was overturned and his chair was in a broken heap upon the floor. All sorts of books, papers and a matter of other materials were strewn all over the place. In the middle of it all, he stood, staring directly back at you. To you, it was obvious his temper had gotten the better of him and he expressed his anger, creating the destruction around you.

"I'm sorry, I shall not interrupt you," you said, feeling awkward and out of place. "I have come at an inopportune…"

"Enter," he commanded again. "Shut the door."

His inflection was authoritative and firm. You hesitated once more but you did as he said. When the door shut, you could feel fear creeping into your being.

The Witch-king remained tense and unmoving. Now he was silent, waiting for you to speak first.

"I wanted to speak with you after not seeing you for some days," you said, making sure you sounded cordial and calm. "I deemed it had been long enough."

"You are rife with fear," he noted. "Come closer."

"For what cause?" you countered, feeling defensive and vulnerable.

"So that I may have you closer to me, now come forth."

You took a shaky breath and did as he said. You approached him until you were literally only a foot away from him. He towered above you, his faceless head peering back at you.

"You are unwell?" you asked, gesturing to the room around you.

"My master has spoken with me," he revealed. "He has voiced his displeasure with me."

"What has he said?"

"He has reminded me why I loathe him."

That was something you didn't expect him to tell you. You had no idea that he had the ability to do such a thing. In fact, you thought it would've been treason for him to even think it.

"What has he said, if I may ask?" you pressed.

"It is something you shouldn't be troubled with," he replied. "This is merely a burden of mine and not yours. I have dealt with it for so long and I can continue to do it."

"I sense there is more to it than that. The truth would be appreciated and valued. If I am bound to you and as your consort, it is imperative that I know."

He was silent for a few moments.

"He said that if I displease him, he will mark you for death," he finally admitted.

Your entire body became rigid and cold at his remark. While you had a suspicion that eventually Sauron might shift his attention to you, you had hoped it would be far later in the future or never. To hear this news frightened you and you had no idea what you could. Escape was out of the question, especially now that Angwen and Venarion were finally in your custody. You simply couldn't leave without them and escaping Minas Morgul became significantly harder to imagine with two companions.

"I did not wish to trouble your already weary mind with even more strife," he said.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be so shaken and surprised," you said. "I feel that maybe this was inevitable. That was a risk that I took."

"I will do whatever is necessary in order to keep him from you. I have lost one wife, I will not lose another."

"You must watch your tongue lest he should hear you…"

"I care not. He already knows I detest him. He delights in the knowledge that he ruined and condemned me and the other Nazgûl. There is nothing we can do. In the end, we must serve him because we have no real choice."

This information caught you off guard. Your grandfather always taught you that the Nazgûl were mindless, merciless and wholly wicked. His stories had pressed those ideas into you for as long as you could remember. They were to be feared, hated and resisted at all costs. He stressed that they loved and delighted in serving their master and whatever his will dictated was theirs as well. For so long, you believed his tales and you staunchly thought his words were the truth.

Yet from what the Witch-king was telling you, Aldahir was correct but he was wrong at the same time. They obeyed because they had been corrupted and they needed to. They were aware they had been deceived and there was nothing that could be done. They couldn't hope to resist Sauron's will even if they tried. The Nine were prisoners and bound to a being that showed no kindness or mercy.

Your beliefs had been challenged and as time passed, they had crumbled. The one who had taken your hand had revealed things to you that you had deemed were impossible. If this was the true circumstance, then it was remarkable to say the least. You had hated and feared them not long ago. Now you pitied them and their blight.

And as strange as it was, you couldn't bring yourself to hate him. Earlier, it was so strong and bright but as you learned more about him and the others, you were moved to pity and sympathy.

"I'm sorry," you said, feeling sadness creeping into your heart. "I never imagined nor have I dreamed it was like that. I thought the truth was far more sinister and you were more…"

"Soulless," he cut in, "I believe that was the term you were looking for."

It was blunt but true. He chose the perfect word even though you were reluctant to even utter it.

"Now I feel as if my sorrows are miniscule in comparison to yours," you stated. "You have lost everything whereas I have only lost some family members. I am lucky to at least have my brother and sister."

"But it is still valid," he said. "The grief I felt in you is wholly genuine and I cannot belittle that. However, let us depart from my perpetual dilemma. You have come here for a different purpose and I won't delay our discussion of it any longer."

A part of you wanted to know more and console him on the matter but neither did you want to push him. You could see and feel he wasn't as angry and you didn't want to fan the embers of his wrath. At a later time, you would pursue more on his affliction.

"Very well," you nodded. "I only wanted to hear your story about what had happened at Weathertop. My siblings' stories were the same."

"I had been tracking down your family for sometime as they had been on the run," he said. "They knew I was seeking them and they still fled. I later learned it was because your father and grandfather wanted to hide away the women and your youngest brother. I was also surveying other bands of Dúnedain warriors and those who resisted and fought against the Orcs. I had specifically instructed them to capture and secure your family. But those fools mistook my orders and thought they were another party. Now I realize I should have gone with them in the first place especially if they were to confront the group your kin belonged to. I raced after them but I was too late. I realized quickly they were dead but I knew there were two survivors so I pursued Angwen and Venarion myself. I couldn't send more Orcs to intercept them for I did not trust them. I executed the Orcs who were responsible for that atrocious misunderstanding and I laid your cherished deceased to rest. I knew that was what you would likely desire."

It still hurt to hear his account. Yet it was consistent with that of the survivors' tales and you believed he spoke the truth. This wasn't an attempt to maliciously cover up a secret plan he had to wipe them all out. You believed it was an honest mistake and if that was the case, you would hold no ill will against him.

"And they said you laid spells upon their tomb?" you asked, feeling a bit uneasy over the thought of witchcraft being cast upon them.

"Only because I didn't want anyone to defile them," he explained. "We were in enemy territory and I didn't want any possible witnesses trying to rip them from the earth once we moved on. I briefly entertained the thought of bringing them back but they wouldn't be as you remembered them. They would be twisted perversions and it would only cause you more grief and pain."

You could only imagine what the Witch-king meant by those words. You didn't doubt he had proficiency in necromancy and you had no desire in your heart to see it firsthand. Truly, you were happy and relieved he had buried them and left them be. It was as you desired after all. You didn't want them transported to Minas Morgul and have them placed in some stony, dark crypt. They belonged in the West and you were pleased their bones would remain in that soil.

"Thank you." Your words were solemn and true. "You have at least delivered Angwen and Venarion to me and for that, I am grateful."

"You made no other request and you are not needy and tiresome," he answered. "I wish I could have fulfilled it wholly but it is done."

"How may I repay you for this task?"

"Restitution is unnecessary."

You felt lucky. You were sure you would have to do a favor in return for his task but he required nothing of you. Yet he denied you the chance to do so. It appeared that he wouldn't require anything of you and you felt grateful."

"On second thought, there is something I may ask for," he said.

"Yes?" you answered, feeling a little vexed and unsure.

He gestured to the pandemonium that his study was still embroiled in. For a moment, you had nearly forgotten about it while you were conversing with him. It was still indeed a worrisome mess.

"Your assistance in this matter would be valued," he said.

Not even you were prepared for the smile and the small laugh that escaped past your lips. You couldn't even remember the last time you chuckled. It nearly felt like an age had passed since the last time you had done it.

"Of course," you replied. "I will do what I can."

"Normally, I would command the Orcs to clean this," he said. "But I do not trust them with handling these old and invaluable manuscripts, texts and maps. I would rather do it myself to ensure they are unsullied. You are also by no means crude and reckless so I trust you with this."

"I am no stranger to handling old books and other literature." You knelt down and picked up the closest book by your feet. "I did frequent my old family friend's library a few times a week. He did have an assortment of interesting books. Mainly they were on subjects of the Third Age but that was perfectly fine."

"I do find a learned and knowledgeable woman to be alluring and charming."

"But not when you frighten her on the road at night, causing her to throw her books at you and flee into a dark forest."

A raspy but soft laugh rang out from the darkened space in his hood. Then he made his way over to his desk, proceeding to flip it over onto it's proper position. 

"I admit," the Witch-king said, "that introduction could have been done more tastefully. But you must forgive me, it had been a dreadfully long time since I had been involved in the ways of romance." 

"I won't hold it against you. I can forgive that for you have been good to me. You dispelled all my previous expectations and assumptions."

"As have you."


	4. Remnant of the Fell Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witch-king acquires a new servant whose heritage is tied in with the history of his old kingdom of Angmar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you for the comments and kudos!
> 
> So basically, when the Witch-king isn't out and about on the battlefield, I envisioned him having more "casual" gear on. I admit, the way he looked in "Shadow of War" video game was awesome so I gave him that appearance for most of the story. It's just something I wanted to clarify and not have everyone assume he's wearing that huge, scary iron helm he donned in "Return of the King" constantly LOL.
> 
> That's all and please enjoy!

Chapter 4 Remnant of the Fell Realm

(one month later)

It took him a great amount of courage but Venarion finally gained the will to go out and about on his own within the walls of Minas Morgul. As much as he loathed and feared the Orcs and other dwellers, the lad was still compelled to familiarize and explore his new home. While he was certainly daunted by this place, he was also a restless spirit and couldn't sit by idly for too long. He was filled with the desire to roam and prod his surroundings.

He kept to the walls and shadows almost like a ghost, trying to be as soundless and unseen as much as he could. Sometimes he was seen and quickly ignored for it was known to all within the citadel that he was untouchable. Other times he snuck past the Orcish soldiers and they were completely oblivious to his presence.

Venarion delved into many darkened and the least traveled ways in Minas Morgul. His small size also came in handy and he was able to reach some parts that no others could tread. In some areas, he found relics from the years when the city was once called Minas Ithil. Other times, he found store rooms filled with supplies for the Orc legions. He even came across the quarters of the other eight Nazgûl but he made haste and fled that area, reminding himself to never venture that way again.

Every time he went out on an exploratory excursion, he found new passages to investigate. He was given free range throughout the realm but he was told by his eldest sister to strictly remain within the walls and not wander too far off.

Aside from indulging in the compulsion to explore, Venarion also felt as if he needed to be alone at times. He was still grieving over the demise of his kin and there were many times when he lurked within a desolate corridor or room and quietly wept. He still had a hard time coming to terms with what fate had given him and he terribly missed his family. He was grateful that his sisters were alive but the reality still hurt him a great deal and he desired for things to go back to the way they once were. However, he knew that such a thing would never happen. As much as he hated it, he would have to make do with what he had been given.

When he was not delving into the depths of Minas Morgul, Venarion was with his sisters. He kept close to them, relying on them for comfort and support. With the deaths of his mother and father, the boy now looked upon his eldest sibling as his new parental figure. He kept close to her, knowing she would surely protect him from anything. As odd as it was, Venarion almost felt lucky that she had obtained power and was wielding it to protect him and Angwen. He was only ten but he knew that for as long as Isilmë remained in the Witch-king's favor, he and Angwen would persist and would continue to be granted safety.

Regarding the Witch-king himself, Venarion still feared him and kept away from him if he could manage it. While he knew the Nazgûl lord was housing him and Angwen at the request of his sister, he still filled him with fright. From what she had explained to him and Angwen, she had only accepted the Witch-king's proposal to ensure the safety of her family members. She said that if she complied and went along with his desires, he might reward her. And as odd as it was, it appeared to work. Yet Venarion still viewed the Witch-king as nothing more than a monster that enslaved his sister. He held the Wraith in contempt and wouldn't forgive him for snatching Isilmë. Unwillingly, he would endure and grudgingly respect him because he didn't deny his power and might.

On this day, he found himself wandering outside the perimeter of the area that had once been the city's gardens. Long ago, it held an abundance of flora but when it had been captured by the Witch-king, it had since withered and became barren. At the center of the garden, there stood a mighty fountain but it had long since run dry and fell into disrepair. Venarion was no stranger to this section and this was one of the more obvious and earliest places he had explored once he found his courage.

Earlier, Venarion planned on climbing the old fountain to waste an hour or so while he waited for dinner to be prepared in the meantime. Yet he kept his distance upon seeing the Witch-king was sitting at the fountain. His head was tilted downwards, almost looking as if he was gazing into the nonexistent water. Venarion knelt down behind a fallen pillar and silently watched him, wondering if he would do anything and also a bit perplexed to see him looming about in this area.

He could tell that this was the Witch-king even without his fearsome helm that he wore when in the heart of combat. When he was not fighting the enemy, the Nazgûl lord donned a simple metal helm that encased his invisible skull. At the top of his helmet, there were a few points, giving the headwear the shape and look of a crown. No other Wraith wore something like this so Venarion could easily discern the Witch-king from the others as long as he possessed that.

Venarion held his ground, somewhat tempted to approach him and see what was happening but another part of him kept him anchored to his hiding spot. He did indeed had an aversion to the Witch-king and he wasn't that curious to confront him.

His observations were cut short when he heard the approach of Orcs. The boy ducked as lowly as he could, hoping he was out of sight. When he dared to peek again a few seconds later, he saw that the Witch-king was standing up to receive the Orcs who were encroaching.

As Venarion looked on, he could see the small, gnarled shape of a person that was flanked by the two Orcs. Perplexed by this development, Venarion crept a little closer. He kept low to the ground and hiding behind any rubble that was strewn about.

"My lord," one of the Orcs addressed the Nazgûl, "you have a guest that has requested an audience with you."

The Witch-king stared down the robed, withered being, intrigued by this visitation. Not many visitors came to Minas Morgul and when they did show up, they arrived as prisoners or as emissaries from Mordor or other nations that had allied with Sauron. Yet he sensed this was no ambassador and knew this was something unexpected and unusual.

"Leave us," he dismissed the Orcs.

Without saying another word, the two Orcs bowed before him and walked off, leaving the guest alone in the presence of the lord of Minas Morgul. The soldiers were perplexed as well, perhaps even a bit shocked someone had the gall to request an audience with him.

Venarion inched closer, hoping he could eavesdrop on the conversation. He only hoped he would be undetected.

As soon as the Orcs had left the vicinity, the cloaked being fell to their knees and bowed deeply to the Witch-king. They were prostrate so low that their forehead touched the ground.

"Mighty Witch-king, it is truly an honor to finally be in your presence," the gravelly, ancient voice finally spoke. They still remained on the ground, bowing and showing reverence to him.

"Stand up," he instructed. "Remove your hood and let me see you. I must know who you are and what your motives are for seeking me."

The archaic individual rose but experienced difficulty as they did so, only further betraying how old they were. Their bones creaked and popped as they moved. Once they were on their feet, they removed their hood.

Beneath that concealing article, there was the haggard, worn visage of an elderly woman. Her right eye had a cataract while her other one was starting to cloud as well. Her hair was snow white and it coursed down the middle of her hunched back. Her hands barely poked out from the dark sleeves and one could see that her fingers sported long nails.

"I am Mariss, sire," she said as she bowed yet again, this time doing it at her waist. "I have come to Minas Morgul to offer my service to you if you will permit it, lord."

"There is something to you, I can sense it," the Witch-king stated.

"Aye, I am nearly two hundred and fifty but I have my profession to thank for that. Sire, I hail from a long line of witches and my ancestors had served you when you waged war against the kingdoms of Arnor so long ago. My mother, Naliss, was a witch as well as was her mother and her mother before her. Each generation has practiced the magic arts and while I have no child of my own to carry on my heritage, I am still capable enough. Do you recall Heccan? She served as one of your sorcerers faithfully for many years before she was felled by a Dúnedain sword at the Barrow-downs."

The Witch-king had so many servants at his beck and call over the years so he immediately did not recall the one known as Heccan. However, he did indeed remember that when he still ruled Angmar and waged war against Arnor, he did have some servants who practiced the dark arts. And as he reminisced more, he did recall Heccan. She was one of his greater sorcerers but he had never extensively interacted with her.

"That was many centuries ago but I know of whom you speak," he confirmed.

Marris smiled and let out a wheezy, shaky laugh. Clearly, she was delighted that he recalled her foremother.

"When Angmar had fallen, my ancestors fled and took refuge in Umbar," she explained further. "There, they laid low and we continued to practice our arts. We continued to do so in the hope that you would reemerge and wage war against the realms of the Dúnedain once more. Now that you are in conflict with Gondor, I have come here to seek audience with you and ask for permission to serve you. It would make my ancestors proud and in my eyes, there is no greater honor than to serve the king that Heccan had died for."

This was something he hadn't anticipated. He was more than aware that these sorcerers had existed but since he had fought and challenged Gondor, none of these folk had personally sworn fealty to him. The ones who had served him in Angmar had all but perished or fled and were scattered across the lands of Middle Earth. To have one come to Minas Morgul, seek an audience with him and then offer her services to him was something he was impressed with. She was also quite old and he found it amusing that even her age didn't stop her from her desire to be in his employ.

"You will be of no use in combat," he told her bluntly. "You are better off away from the frontlines. But I will not scorn you. Daughter of Naliss, descendant of Heccan, I shall accept your willingness and eagerness to serve me. You will follow my whim until I release you or until death takes you and I expect you to serve me well."

Mariss smiled widely and she bowed again to the Witch-king. She chortled in glee and clasped her hands together.

"A thousand thanks, my lord!" she said happily. "Your will is my own and I shall serve you with pride and honor."

"If more of your kind come here and offer me their services, I will allow you to govern and command them," he continued. "Are there any others that you know of?"

"Not many, my king. Since the downfall of your old realm, many witches had died out and there are only a handful of us left. Most have remained behind in Umbar. Others are scattered throughout the land and are unaccounted for."

"I do believe I may have a particular use for you, Mariss. Things have changed as of late and I have a household that needs taken care of in my absence."

There was silence, betraying Mariss' confusion and surprise. The old witch's jaw dropped at his words but she cleared her throat and tried to shake off the befuddlement she was faced with.

"Sire, may I be as so bold as to ask," she started, "what do you speak of?"

"There is a queen in this realm and she is my wife," he explained.

Mariss' expression contorted yet again and she hesitated to speak. She was silent for a few moments and had no idea what to make of the news. Even when Angmar had been functional, the Witch-king was the sole monarch and he certainly had no consort. To hear this news flabbergasted the elderly woman.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, a hiss emitting from the darkness of his hood.

"N-nay, sire!" she stammered. "I offer you my heartfelt congratulations! I… I had never suspected such a thing would have occurred! Angmar never had a queen and I thought it would never change…"

"It should be of no concern or consequence to you. She and I have been joined for a year. As you serve me, you will also serve her in turn. She is called Isilmë but you will treat her as your lady. Alongside her, she has two siblings named Angwen and Venarion and they reside here with her. As they are her kin, you will also respect them and serve them as I see fit. While I still search for a use for you or until more of your ilk show up, I will charge you with serving them. Your age is also a hindrance but I will not turn away allegiance from someone who offers it so willingly. My time in Minas Morgul is coming to an end and I must depart to Mordor very soon."

"Your wish is my command, my lord! I will do this for you."

Venarion frowned as he overhead this conversation. This withered crone gave him the iciest chills and he immediately deemed that he didn't like her. She so willingly and enthusiastically gave herself to the Witch-king's service so he was already wary of her. Although she was bent and feeble, Venarion still told himself to be cautious when he was around her. If she was indeed a witch, he didn't want to get too close to her.

He decided he needed to make haste and warn his sisters of this witch's arrival before the Witch-king could deliver the news first. Venarion kept low again yet tried to hurry as he did so, hoping he wouldn't be caught.

"Venarion."

He felt an invisible pair of eyes on him and the boy halted, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He remained in place, knowing it wouldn't be wise to keep running off and ignore the Witch-king.

He sighed softly and looked over his shoulder, seeing that the cloaked Wraith had spotted him. To his disgust, Mariss was also gazing at him and it only sent chills down his spine.

"You are soundless, clever and elusive like a fox, boy," the Nazgûl said. "Do not be meek, approach."

Venarion swallowed roughly and silently wished his eldest sister was present. He obeyed the Witch-king however, daring to not challenge or disobey him. The boy had no desire to test his luck or push his boundaries.

"So, this is Venarion," Mariss smiled as the youth approached. "What a precious and princely boy! I am pleased to make your acquaintance, little lord." She curtsied to him. "The Witch-king had explained to me regarding your presence and reason for being here. You are very lucky, young master."

"I am going to assume you have heard a fair share," the Witch-king told him. "Mariss is to care take you, Angwen and Isilmë in my eventual absence."

Venarion could work up no words to his mouth as he stared back at Mariss. By far, she was the most ancient individual he had seen. The oldest individual he had known was Mr. Elderberry but she looked an age or two older than the librarian he knew for so long.

Venarion forced a smile at the crotchety crone. He didn't want to be reprimanded and he reminded himself to not anger the Nazgûl by having a lack of manners before this new recruit.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Mariss," he said.

"Ah, I can tell you are a timid and shy lad," the witch chuckled. "Do not be troubled, young master, I am harmless to those I serve and any ill will I have is only for my foes. It will be a pleasure to serve you, Lady Angwen and the Queen."

"Thank you…"

"Now that you two are acquainted, it would be proper for the others to learn of your existence, my servant," the Witch-king said. "Let us be on our way."

(…)

"Angwen!"

The silence told everything. Your urgings and warnings went ignored by the bold and headstrong maiden. As much as you loved her and held her dear, she really was a handful and you were glad you weren't her mother. Honestly, you had no idea how your mother had dealt with her. You had almost forgotten what it was like living with her when you still resided in the West with your family.

You growled in annoyance and you followed her into the room she was snooping around in. Your footsteps were brisk and angered and were sure you would pummel Angwen the moment your eyes fell upon her shape.

She was within the Black Captain's private armory, just as you had deemed she ventured into. Her back was turned to you as she stood in place. You traced her trajectory, seeing that she was fixated upon a huge, cruel, black flail that sat on the stony floor.

"I want that!" she grinned impishly. "What a fearsome and dreadful thing!"

"Do not lay a hand on it, Angwen!" you warned her.

She looked over her shoulder and she shot you a mischievous look. On top of that, she grinned.

"Or what?" she prodded. "No harm will come about just from touching it, Isilmë!"

Laughing, Angwen grasped the flail's handle firmly. Then she tried to lift it off the floor. It didn't budge in the slightest and again, she tried to raise the spiked, ponderous weapon. She warred with the heavy object, putting more effort into trying to lift it.

After a minute or two of struggling, she saw it was pointless. She huffed angrily and let the handle slip from her hands. It became clear to her that she was too weak to wield it.

"Pay no heed to that," she said, sounding irked.

"Have you fulfilled your damning curiosity enough?" you wondered and crossed your arms. "These are wicked and deadly arms and you needn't bother with these things."

Angwen's eyes widened when she saw something else that caught her attention. Without tearing her attention to the weapon that hung on the wall, she made her way over to it. She extended a hand, reaching out for it.

"Isilmë, do my eyes deceive me?" she asked.

Angwen plucked the dagger off of its mount on the wall and carefully handled it. It looked weathered and old and Angwen was wary with how she handled the blade. She didn't dare to even accidentally prick herself.

You hurried to her side when you saw what she was wielding. Forcefully, you yanked it from her hand and shot her a searing, scolding look. Feeling fearful with holding the fiendish weapon, you put it back in its place.

"That was a Morgul blade, wasn't it?" Angwen questioned, a mixture of wonder and fear in her voice. "I've only heard stories about them!"

"Yes," you replied tersely, "and I forbid you to touch it again. That small blade is perhaps the most deadly weapon in his armament."

"But, Sister…" Angwen smiled puckishly once again. "I am sure your husband would not mind if I borrowed it for a small errand. I would be quick and return it as soon as I concluded my business."

"You have no business with a weapon like that. Do not touch it again, do you hear me?"

"I want to test it for myself. There was an ugly and uncouth Orc who looked at me meanly the other day. I figured I ought to use it on him and see if you truly could ensnare those whom you stabbed with a Morgul blade."

"You become a lesser Wraith bound to the servitude of the Nine if you are stabbed by a Morgul blade. You would end up accidently stabbing yourself anyway and I would prefer that to not happen. Banish those thoughts from your head, Angwen."

"You are within the Witch-king's good graces, do you think you could ask him to fashion one for me?"

"No and he would deny your commission if you asked him for it as well."

"I am a warrior, I can handle weaponry!"

You only laughed at your sister's words.

"It's true!" she argued. "I avenged Mother by killing the Orc who murdered her. Grandfather taught all of us some combat skills before he perished."

"True, he did so…" Your temper cooled somewhat as you reflected on your family. The wounds still hurt. "But we are hardly qualified to be actual soldiers."

"Then I will learn more. I will teach myself or acquire a mentor. I am the Morgul Lady's sister, I can have whatever I want."

"A little humility never hurt anyone, Angwen. You may have been granted some respect and immunity but you must never push the boundaries or make enemies. You may be under the Witch-king's protection but you must remember he and I can only do so much." Your gaze hardened on your rash sister. "You do try his patience and you are becoming spoiled by your circumstances."

"I hardly have anything to fear from a phantom in tattered robes."

"Listen to me carefully, Sister." You set both of your hands on her shoulders, forcing her to remain focused on you. "You cannot afford to make things worse for yourself. You have been granted privileges and kindness that could possibly be taken away and I don't want to see that tragedy befall you. You have antagonized him and I cannot be a constant mediator."

"How can I forgive him for what he has done to you?" Her volume was raised and she was becoming angered. "How can I forgive him for his servitude under Sauron? Isilmë, he is a heartless monster!"

You hushed her, wanting her to keep her voice lowered to avoid the chance of eavesdroppers overhearing anything. Your hands remained on her, not wanting to let go of her just yet. Her fear had disappeared some weeks ago and her true nature started to resurface once more. It was alarming you and she appeared to be uncaring of the nature of those around you. She was becoming brash and she would attempt to antagonize the Orcs at times or become confrontational with the Witch-king. Lately, you were more concerned about her holding her tongue rather than Venarion's wanderings.

"This can wait until later and when we are in our rooms," you reminded her. "There is a time and a place for everything but this topic cannot be discussed here. Have I made myself clear?"

"When is a good time?" she countered. "Isilmë, we cannot remain here forever and even you know this. Minas Morgul is not meant for us. The Witch-king isn't meant for you either. You are too pure for him."

"Silence! Angwen, please…"

Her eyes became angry and stormy for a few moments and it worried you. However, she forced herself to calm down, realizing that it was in her best interest to go along with your demands. She folded her hands together and grimly nodded at you.

You deemed yourself lucky when you could hear footfalls outside of the armory. You released Angwen and turned to face your incoming company.

A deep breath nearly escaped you when you saw how fortunate you felt that you managed to subdue Angwen earlier. The Witch-king and Venarion entered the chamber but there was a stranger amongst them.

"There you are," he said. "I hadn't expected you to come to this place."

"It was my idea, sir," Angwen spoke up. "I wanted to see a Morgul blade with my own eyes and it did not disappoint."

"You may look but it is not to be handled by any of you. That should go without saying." He ceased and he gestured to the stranger that stood to his right. "Her name is Mariss and she has sworn her service to me. As of now, her duty is to look after you. I will be leaving for Mordor soon so she will do my bidding and make sure your needs are met."

Mariss bowed before you and Angwen. She remained that way for a few seconds before she straightened her posture as much as she could to face you again. She wore a smile on her face and she laughed softly.

"Lady Angwen and the bride of the Witch-king…" she said, her smile never fading. "What a wonderful time this is! I can see why our lord chose you, Lady Isilmë. You are a sight to behold."

"Thank you," you said, trying to be polite and affable before this newcomer. "It's a pleasure to meet you and I look forward to having you here in our household. I assure you, you will not have to worry about much. I do not require much and my brother and sister are the same as well. We have more humble and simple roots and we are not too demanding."

"Not need to be so demeaning, my queen, I will do everything I can to accommodate you and follow the commands of your lord and husband."

Venarion at last left the side of the robed Wraith and stood beside his eldest sister. Once he was close enough, you set your hand on his shoulder and kept him next to you. He rested against your frame, feeling safe and sound by your side.

"You are to depart?" you questioned your consort.

"Yes, my master commands it," the Witch-king revealed. "He has demanded that I come into Mordor and search for more signs of the Halfling. Over a year has passed since he had left the Shire with it and he has still not shown up. He suspects the Ringbearer has either succumbed to his Ring like that unsightly, pitiful creature called Gollum did. Either that has happened or the Ringbearer has perished and the Ring has faded into obscurity again. He said he couldn't allow such a thing again."

You hoped that the Ring would forever remain out of his reach. Undoubtedly, if the Witch-king did recover it, he would return it to Sauron and then Middle Earth would fall to ruin. If the Ring was found at long last, you were unsure what you could possibly do. There would be no hope for Men and the armies of the Dark Lord would engulf and destroy everything. There would be no chance of victory and no one would be able to stand in defiance to him.

"The sooner I leave, the more likely I will appease him," he further explained.

"Very well," you said, nodding your head.

The Witch-king remained focused on you.

"Venarion and Angwen, return to your quarters," he commanded. "Mariss, have some Orcs show you to your new chambers. I must speak to my wife in private. Leave us."

All three of them obeyed him without hesitation. Angwen took Venarion's hand and made haste out of the armory. Neither of them spared you a second glance as they hurried out of the room, happy to be out the presence of the newcomer and the Witch-king. Mariss wordlessly bowed to the Witch-king and hustled out of the room as quickly as her elderly form would permit her.

When he sensed they were away, he took a few steps closer to you. Then he took one of your hands and held it in his. You didn't flinch as he held you like this and merely remained quiet, pondering over what he had to say to you.

"My departure will keep you safe for now," he said, his tone a little lower. "He has commanded me to leave soon and I will go as soon as possible. I won't delay him. I dare not to. I have no choice either way."

"I understand," you said.

"You are comfortable with Mariss?"

"Yes, she should be fine. She seems eager to serve and help so she will be a fine addition. I do not think she will cause any strife or grief."

"If she does, do not hesitate to inform me. I will promptly remove her."

"It will be fine. Mariss will tread lightly."

"She seems eager to please and follow my commands and I have informed her about you so I believe she will serve you well for as long as her life may last. She will do so that she may remain in my good graces."

"You are lucky to have found such a dutiful and loyal servant."

"True. But I believe Mariss will be a fine asset to your staff of servants. She is not an Orc so it will add variety. She is no Dúnedain however. She is a Black Númenorean. Yet she will heed me and obey you so do not fear."

"I trust your decision about this. So far, you have not given me a reason to scorn your trust. You have treated me well and you continue to do so. You have also taken my brother and sister under your care too and I still am so grateful for that."

His helm moved in closer to your face and you remained still as he pressed a kiss to your lips. You could feel his available hand come around the back of your head and his palm rested against your skull, cupping it. The curious side of you wished that you could actually see his features and at last gaze upon the true face of the being you had wedded. But another fragment of you was happy his façade would remain invisible to you, fearing that you would see something fiendish.

Instead, you only focused on the feeling and not the sight. It was cold like every other kiss he gave you. However, this one felt deeper and it lingered far longer than the others. Anymore, you were used to his affections and they no longer bothered you. In fact, you considered yourself lucky that he was gentle with you.

After a minute, he ceased the intimate gesture. His hand rubbed the back of your head, his armored hands being ginger as his fingers ran through your hair.

"If I feel anything is wrong, I will attempt to return as soon as he allows me," he said. "I know my duties and I simply cannot deviate from them."

"I understand fully," you assured. "But you needn't fret, everything ought to be fine."

"I do not want to lose another."

"I am safe here. You must go forth and do as he commands. Do not forget that."

"I am aware. I won't delay him further. You will not mind if I leave as soon as we are finished conversing?"

"No. And I do not mean to be curt but the sooner you leave, the better. You do not want his wrath upon you. Though you are his second in command, Sauron treats you like dirt beneath one's boot. To test what little mercy he has is not wise."

"I know. I suppose you are wise to encourage me to go. I shall depart." Slowly, he relinquished you from his hold and drew his hands away. "However, before I do that, I want to give you something before I leave."

He reached into his robes and a few seconds later, he held out his hand to you. In his palm there sat a silver ring. A luminous gem of your favorite color was set into it and surrounding the jewel was a circle of black onyx crystals. Carved into the band were branch-like designs and ran along the side of the ring. The gems and crystals were polished and they gleamed even in the dim but torch lit armory.

Needless to say, you were breathless upon seeing that this ring was bestowed onto you. You also couldn't help but feel apprehensive and nervous. Rings were indeed tricky and wicked things. You were ecstatic to be gifted it but you also felt cautious and reserved.

"No need to be frightened," he said, quickly sensing your mixed emotions. "This is merely cosmetic and I had its commission overseen from start to finish. There is no ulterior or malicious ploy. I merely deemed you needed a queenly gift."

You found it highly unlikely that he would lie about this. He never gave you a reason to distrust him and even now, you hoped he wouldn't suddenly change that policy. It was truly a beautifully crafted ring and as much as you wanted to humbly refuse, you didn't want to turn this small but spectacular gift away.

"This is too regal for the likes of me," you smiled, "but I heartily thank you for such a generous and comely gift."

"Nay, it is just right for the lady of Minas Morgul," he asserted. "It is for you and you alone."

You smiled, genuinely pleased to have received such a ring. You delicately removed it from his palm and slipped it onto one of your fingers. Still grinning, you admired and studied the ring, pleased that it looked well on you and it fit you perfectly. As strange as it was, you thought as if you could feel your cheeks burning for as long as you gazed upon it. You quickly tried to disregard it and you faced him once more.

"Thank you," you said with honesty in your voice.

"I am delighted that you enjoy it so," he said. He set a kiss onto your forehead. "Wear it with pride and joy, my queen. It suits you well."

It was so strange…

One assumption after another was shattered. You did not know if perhaps the darkness of Minas Morgul was cheating and bewitching you but you strongly believed that this was no fell illusion. What you saw and felt was wholly real and you couldn't dismiss it.

For so long, you had heard and believed one side of the stories for that was all you had known for all those years. It was what you were told and brought up with ever since your grandfather started telling you all the myths and stories of old as bedtime narratives. All the history books and accounts you had researched and read confirmed what he told you. But now that you were in close and intimate contact with the other side, it was all so different.

The Witch-king never denied what he had done in the past. He had indeed served Sauron alongside the other Nazgûl for all those thousands of years. He had laid waste to the old kingdom of Arnor and your ancestors gave their lives and blood to resist him and his forces. He had taken you from all that you had known and loved. He continued to assault the free nations of Middle Earth as per his master's orders.

Yet there was more to it than that. So much corruption and subjugation had twisted him and reshaped him into the terror that stood before you. But as soon as you reminded him of someone he had cherished and loved from his abandoned, former life, some shred of his old self was being brought to the surface. Time dragged on and you learned more about who the Nazgûl were from one of those of that very ilk. You were moved to pity and you were enlightened.

No longer could you find it in yourself to hate the Witch-king. More than anything else, you desired to help him. How you yearned to somehow free him and at last see the glimmers of a lost man step into the light after so long. The thought of escaping was nearly nonexistent to you now. You didn't want to leave until he had been liberated from Sauron. You were bound to him and your place was by his side.

It was so strange…


	5. Of Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both the Witch-king and his queen have responsibilities neither can ignore or neglect.

Chapter 5 Of Duty

(three days later)

"Berwûld?"

"Aye, my lady?"

You wetted your lips and thought over your words before resuming and speaking. You didn't want to sound paranoid or overly suspicious. The Orc didn't seem to be one to gossip or spread rumors but you still wanted to phrase your words correctly.

"What do you think of Mariss?" you asked him.

"The witch?" he assumed. "I reckon I have no true opinion of her yet, your ladyship. She has only been here for a few days and no one has really interacted with her."

"I am merely curious. I must admit I'm still a little unsure about her. She is unusual and I am surprised she still wanted to serve the Witch-king despite her obvious, advanced age."

"I think it to be odd as well." Berwûld poured a glass of wine for you as you requested earlier. Respectfully, he handed the silver goblet to you. "There you are, my queen. But she is hardly the strangest creature I have seen enter these walls. However, I can say I haven't met many sorcerers and witches."

"Thank you." You took a sip of the wine, sampling the taste. It agreed to you and you took a longer and more generous second sip. "I have only met her once and that was when I was first introduced to her. I haven't called upon her since then so I can assume she is waiting for me to summon her. She may also be familiarizing herself to her new home. My brother and sister haven't spotted her lately either."

"She is at your beck and call, my lady. Do not hesitate to request her. She desired to serve the lord of the Nine and her wish was granted. He has assigned her and she will do it no matter what." He stuck the cork back into the bottle's neck. "Is the wine to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you, this will do just fine."

"Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime, my lady?"

"No, Berwûld, thank you. If I need anything, I will send for you."

"Of course."

The Orc servant bowed to you and walked out, leaving the bottle on the table in case if you wanted more. He exited your chambers and gently shut the door behind him, leaving you be.

Absentmindedly, you peered into the goblet, looking at the rich, red liquid that filled it. You took another swig of the wine and tilted backwards slightly in your chair. For now, you wanted to indulge in the peace and quiet. Angwen and Venarion were out and about, roaming the citadel together and granting you a rare moment of solitude.

The sound of metal on metal momentarily caught your attention before you realized it was your ring lightly clinking off the goblet's handle. You glanced at the ring, noticing how the gems still gleamed. A small smile graced your features and you took a few moments to admire the band yet again. It truly was a work of art and you were secretly pleased to have received such a gift.

The Witch-king indeed did depart from Minas Morgul concluding your conversation with him. He left immediately and you could only guess how long he'd remain absent. You didn't mind it but admittedly, you felt a little more secure knowing he was present. You were aware his presence kept his underlings in check and you knew it all too well.

For the time being, you were alone in Minas Morgul save for the Orcs and Mariss. The Nazgûl were called to Mordor and were busy with Sauron's errands. You were somewhat pleased they were gone but neither were you particularly thrilled with monitoring the city and its ghoulish inhabitants. You certainly hoped Gondor or one of their allies wouldn't attack it because you knew it would certainly fall. You were no commander and you had no experience with things of that nature. You only hoped that if an attack was launched, some of the Nine would return to drive back the invading forces.

As much as you loathed letting Angwen and Venarion roam about, you didn't want them to be annoyed from being barred. You trusted Venarion to keep his nose out of trouble but your sister was a different story. Many times, she did not think before acting. Her hatred of Orcs also still burned brightly and it made you wary. You only hoped she would settle and adapt to her new circumstances. A month had only passed and she was young so you knew her temper would cool eventually. It would only take some time.

Only five minutes passed before you heard someone knock on the door to your chambers. It was so quiet and slight that you hardly even noticed it at first. Your curiosity was piqued and you didn't recognize who knocked like that.

You set your goblet down and made your way over to the door. It only took a few moments and you made it to that spot. Then you opened it, unveiling your guest.

"Pardon my sudden intrusion, Lady Isilmë." The haggard, elderly woman was at your door. She bowed to you politely. "I hope I was not intruding upon anything."

"No, of course not," you said. "It is no issue at all. I was actually thinking about you, wondering when you would present yourself."

"Aye, I figured to let the queen call upon me when she was ready but I decided I ought to stop by and see if you required anything. That is my charged duty, my lady."

It was so puzzling to you. Honestly, you believed someone as old as she was much better off resting and being at ease. To you, she looked as if she already had one foot in the grave. It almost startled you that she yearned to serve your consort that much. Apparently, she wouldn't let her advanced years restrict her from offering any sort of assistance for the Witch-king.

The fact that she was reportedly a witch also intimidated you. Your grandfather told stories of the spell casters and sorcerers that had served the Witch-king when Angmar was still a relevant power all those years ago. They incited fear in the hearts of their enemies and they were forces to be reckoned with. They called upon Wights and other unpleasant creatures and were skilled with sowing turmoil and sickness upon the kingdoms of the Dúnedain.

Despite those old tales, you decided to give her a chance. Mariss seemed agreeable enough. So far, her roughest qualities that you observed so far were her looks but regarding her personality, nothing was especially troubling or suspicious.

"Why don't you come in, Mariss?" you offered. "Let us converse and get to know one another without being exposed like this."

"That is kind of you, my lady," she nodded, smiling at you. "I shall accept."

You moved aside, allowing Mariss to enter your quarters. She hobbled in, clutching and maneuvering her walking stick as she did so. You remained patient and then ushered her over to one of the chairs.

"You must sit, one your age must have rest as needed," you said. You seated yourself in a spare chair next to her.

"Ah, you are too good for the likes of me, my lady," the crone chuckled. "You are a dear."

"The elderly must be taken care of and accommodated and I am far younger so I must help you as you help me."

"I may have seen more than two centuries but I'm not utterly hapless just yet. I can still walk and for that, I am lucky. May I ask you about your story, my lady? You see, I was most intrigued when the Witch-king told me he acquired a bride."

At first, you were a little unwilling to do so but you deemed there would be no harm in it. It was strange but she reminded you of your paternal grandmother in a vague way. She had passed shortly before Venarion's birth. In a way, it felt nostalgic to speak to this individual. It was almost comforting.

"No worries, my queen," Mariss said, catching onto your hesitation, "for I shall naturally tell you of my story."

"Oh, forgive me," you said, trying to brush it off, "I just don't know where to begin exactly."

"Allow me to assist you, my dear. From where do you hail?"

"I lived with my family some miles from Bree. Specifically, we lived in between the Barrow-downs and Bree. We are by no means of royal blood either for I have simpler origins. My grandfather was a full blooded Dúnedain warrior and he took a wife from Bree and from their union, my father was born. My father then married my mother who was from Combe. So I have Dúnedain blood in my veins but it is somewhat diminished."

"I see. So your family has had ties with the three former kingdoms of Arnor?"

"Yes." Internally, you cursed yourself for revealing that to her but you wouldn't avoid it for that matter either. "They dwelled in and roamed those lands for many generations."

"How interesting it is that the Witch-king chose a bride of Dúnedain stock." She laughed and still maintained her grin. "I never would have foreseen that. But I say it with good nature, my lady. Obviously, he wasn't deterred by that. Once, our races were united but that was an age ago. We were once one before the sinking of Númenor. I am of the Black Númenoreans so I am no Dúnedain. But I hold no ill will for you, my queen. He has made you his wife and through that union, all of my past transgressions have been laid to rest. Yet you must tell me how you came to accept his hand. That is what fascinates me most of all."

It was by no means so willing but you didn't want to divulge that to her. You didn't want to hint that he had disgusted you originally. You didn't want any rifts or tensions to spring up between the two of you.

"I met him when he was out running an errand for his master," you said. "I reminded him of someone from his past and he decided to take me to Minas Morgul. I remained here for some months before he brought up the matter of matrimony. I accepted and we were wed. That is all there is to say about it. That is me putting it simply."

"Ah, how delightful!" Mariss chirped. "You are a lucky woman indeed. I also think he was smitten by your beauty and charm. You are also filled with youth and vigor so perhaps that enticed him. You may take such things for granted but you must heed me when I say you are blessed." She chuckled and gestured to herself. "I have lost my prime and luster long ago. I am no longer so youthful and beautiful."

"I know I must be grateful. He treats me kindly and considerately. He also delivered my family to me when I asked him to do so." You sighed, feeling that all too familiar pang of sadness. Your other family members were long gone and nothing could be done. But you had at least two that survived and resided with you. "Angwen and Venarion are still young and I shall do my best to care take them with the absence of my mother and father."

"There is sadness on your tongue. Something had befallen your kin."

Mariss was astute and observational and it somewhat surprised you. She may have been blinding but she was attuned and wary. Already, you were hoping she wasn't so sharp. You also blamed yourself for possibly being too transparent and open on the matter. Perhaps it was your own doing after all and the witch exploited it.

"Yes," you continued, "Orcs attacked and killed them and my brother and sister were the only ones who survived. It was a horrible mistake."

It was hard to maintain a calm composure but you somehow pulled it off. You were disappointed that you couldn't disguise it better but it was done and over with. Now she knew about the truth of the matter and you weren't sure if you wanted her to know that or not.

"I am sorry to hear of that tragedy," Mariss said, her smile fading. She appeared empathetic and you found comfort in that. "That is most unfortunate but yes, my lady… At least Lady Angwen and Lord Venarion made it out of that dreadful predicament." Her marred eyes then suddenly seemed to focus and grow intense despite the glaze on them. She fell silent, still and continued to stare, almost looking as if she had been turned into a statue. "What an exquisite gift, my queen."

For a few seconds you were perplexed but it didn't take you long to deduce she was referring to your ring. Mariss was fixated upon it and she hardly even blinked as her stare somehow seemed to sharpen.

"Oh, thank you," you said. "This was bequeathed to me just before the Witch-king made haste to Mordor. It was a very flattering gesture."

"Aye, indeed it is," Mariss said, her eyes still transfixed upon the silver band. "Those jewels are beautiful and they shimmer so brightly. They almost look like stars. It is clear to me that he does care for you. Do not forget that, my queen."

"I shan't. That much is obvious to me. I know he at least places some value on me."

Her stare continued to linger on the ring but she finally looked away from it a few moments later. She folded her hands together and Mariss fell quiet. The old woman remained that way briefly before she spoke once more.

"I admit, I am a stranger to this business," she said. "I have never served a royal household and I certainly wasn't expecting to be given such a grand opportunity." Her smile made its return to her weathered and wrinkled face. "But I am happy with my predicament and I am pleased I came to Minas Morgul. Are there any duties I can assist you with, my lady?"

"None that I am aware of or need at the moment," you replied. "I do believe I have no true duties other than keeping my siblings in check. However, the Witch-king has allowed me to watch over the city in the meantime. The other Nazgûl who were once in the West have since been recalled and are to assist my consort in searching for Sauron's Ring. I'm afraid it's just us and Orcs."

"Ah, they are dreadful company but they do their part. I am not fond of those brutes. But they will keep you safe and obey your commands. They have proven their worth. Not only that, they know better. They know better than to hinder you. Do not hesitate to exercise your authority, my queen. You are his wife and he has allowed you power."

"I have had time to adjust to this but it is still so foreign to me."

"I will also assist you with anything you may require. I myself have never married but I will be happy in advising and helping you in your wifely duties. I have lived many years so I deem I know a thing or two about various subjects. I'm sure there are certain expectations that you must adhere to and carry out as needed."

That was another thing you never wanted to think about. You always fretted it would be brought it up inevitably but so far, nothing had been hinted to. A year of marriage had passed and you remained untouched and unclaimed. You only wished it would remain that way. You suspected that perhaps he desired a more platonic relationship and to be truthful, you were fine with that. If it ever transpired and he longed for you in a baser manner, you would still accept it. You would be overcome with fear but you would carry out that duty.

To you, Mariss almost seemed expectant. It seemed as if she was looking for something but what it was exactly, you had no earthly idea. There was simply nothing more you could tell or reveal to her. 

"You still have many years to come to terms with your predicaments," Mariss went on. "Do not overwhelm and worry yourself too much. You don't want to let your fears gain victory and intern you into an early grave, my lady. Such stress and anxiety could spell your doom. You don't want to concern and worry your husband like that."

That was what you were afraid of. You had no idea how long this would last. You were fearful over staying within this dark and depressing citadel for the rest of your days. You would remain within Minas Morgul, surrounded by the hosts of the Dark Lord. Your brother and sister would be with you but anymore, you found yourself wondering if it was even a good idea to allow them to stay in this place for too long.

It was possible that decades could possibly go by and nothing would change. But it was also possible that so much would alter. The future was a horrifying thing for you to even briefly consider. You didn't want to think about it and instead, you preferred to reflect on the past and adapt to whatever the present gave you. You also knew you couldn't run from the future forever but you dearly wished that you could.

"Yes, I suppose I do," you said, your tone sounding distant and soft.

"Do get comfortable," Mariss urged. Her voice was gentle. "You seem unsettled, my lady. I shall leave you be to grant you some peace and quiet."

"Thank you, Mariss."

"Do not hesitate to call upon me either. I will be in my chambers if you need me. I am at your service."

"Thank you."

Mariss got up from her seat and started to make her way to the door. You exited yours as well and walked over to the door to at least open the door for you. Once she at last made it, you opened it for her.

"Thank you, my lady, you are so very kind," she said.

"You are welcome," you replied. "Rest easy as well, Mariss. You shouldn't exert yourself too much."

The crone nodded at you and then went on her way. All that you could hear was the faint crackling of the torches in the corridor, the shuffling of her feet and the occasional knock of her wooden cane against the cold and hard floor. With whittling patience, you waited to close the door until she got further down the hallway.

Once you deemed she was along far enough, you shut the door. You leaned against it, taking a deep breath. Stress and despair was gnawing at you once more.

"I must cease this," you whispered to yourself. "I am cheating myself."

You sighed once again and walked over to the table that bore your goblet. You then returned to your seat and began to nurse quietly at the wine. It warmed your stomach and helped to ease your nerves ever so slightly.

" _This is all a sham_ ," you thought. " _If the worst does come about, if Sauron does achieve victory, I do not know what I will do. I am no servant of his. I cannot endure it. And I know for certain I am no queen. I never wanted it. I never wanted any of this. All I wanted was to continue the life I lived. I was content and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I was so happy. We were all happy… And we were all alive. No, instead of that, I have to share a face with a dead woman whose grieving husband still roams the realm of living death_."

A wave of anger rose up from deep within you. You clenched the goblet in your hands and then roughly tossed it, sending the remaining wine splattering everywhere. The sound of the goblet making impact against the wall on the opposite of the room rang out. Then the racket of the silver vessel crashing to the floor a second later created its own ruckus.

You could feel some stray flecks of wine seep through your garments but paid it no mind. They would likely be stained but you hardly cared about that. You rested your forehead in one of your palms and tried to calm yourself down.

" _You still have many years_ …"

Her words haunted you.

(…)

"Sir, we have found him."

The Witch-king stopped before the familiar, robed figure of one of his fellow Nazgûl. A little farther behind this Wraith, there was another of their brotherhood who had subdued the being they captured.

"Has he been cooperative?" the Witch-king asked. "Has he told you anything?"

"Nay, sire," the weaker Nazgûl reported. "He has kept trying to escape but we will not release him so easily. He has revealed nothing to us and he does not have the Ring on him."

The Morgul lord looked over the shoulder of the fellow Ringwraith. He could see the writhing and struggling form of the gangly, unsightly creature beneath the boot of the second Nazgûl. It filled him with disgust to watch the wretched cretin flail about in desperation. To him, he appeared to be more of a rabid animal than anything else.

"I will attempt to extract something out of that imp," he said coldly.

The Nazgûl stepped aside, allowing him to go on. The Witch-king walked over to the form of the other Wraith and motioned for him to move his foot from off his captive's abdomen. He obliged, removing his foot and standing aside for his lord to take matters into his own hands.

Giving the prisoner no chance to escape, the Witch-king swiftly bent down and clamped his hand around his throat. The captive gagged and sputtered, his huge, blue eyes widened with a mixture of rage and terror. Although his form was small and malnourished, he was surprisingly strong but he was within the steely and merciless grip of the lord of the Nine. Escape was nigh impossible now.

"Gollum," the Witch-king spat. Revulsion was obvious in his tone. "You go wherever the Ring does. Perhaps you know of its whereabouts?"

The twisted and corrupted former Hobbit snarled and bore his unattractive maw at him. He tried to wrestle himself from his grasp but the Witch-king's hand was still tightened around his throat. Gollum dangled in this iron noose, attempting to use every single bit of his strength to break himself free. He hated and feared the Nine and he was more than aware of what they sought and what terrible lengths they would go to if forced enough.

"Speak to me now, you loathsome worm," he commanded icily.

"We curses and hates him forever!" Gollum screamed. "We try and we try but still we fail! Wicked, tricksy, false Master always makes things so difficult for poor Sméagol!"

"You speak of Baggins, I assume. Where is he, Gollum?"

"We'll never tell the likes of you!" He then coughed loudly, repeating his name a few times. "It's ours, not yours! The Precious belongs to us and no one else!"

He applied more pressure on his throat, causing Gollum to choke and gag. Spittle pooled up in the corner of his mouth and his eyes looked as if they were bugging out of his head more so than usual.

"If you want to live, you will cooperate," he warned him. "I want you to be mindful of that. Or are you that feral and thoughtless?"

"I don't know where he is!" He gasped in pain and started to breathe rapidly. "Poor Sméagol has been trying so hard to find that filthy, little Hobbit! But Sméagol cannot find him! We needs it! You can't take the Precious back to him…!"

Gollum's eyes glazed over in terror at the mere thought of Sauron. He released a loud, fearful gasp and he attempted to bite at the Witch-king's fingers. Now he was becoming mad with terror and he sought to flee and run until exhaustion or death had taken him.

The Witch-king immediately released Gollum from his grasp when that happened. Infuriated by the bestial action, he cast him onto the rocky, parched earth and placed his foot upon the smaller creature's head. Gollum flailed about like a fish out of water and howled in agony as the Nazgûl pressed into his skull, threatening to crush it. He tried to pry his foot off of his head but it didn't move in the slightest bit.

"You don't know where Baggins is," the Witch-king repeated. "What of his companions? Are there any others with him?"

"Stupid, fat Hobbit is long gone!" Gollum cried out. "He is broken! So long has it been since we last saws him! He was betrayed by Master!"

This had confirmed his initial thoughts. The Ringbearer had forsaken his quest and fell to the pull of the Ring. It was likely he had killed his companion or ran off and abandoned him while he lingered within Mordor's wastelands.

A year ago, there was a report that a Hobbit had been captured and was stowed away in Cirith Ungol. But when the Nazgûl went there to investigate, most of the Orcs were dead and there was no sign of any Hobbits or a prisoner. A lone Uruk there possessed and turned over to them a shirt of mithril which was found on the captive. After that, it was assumed that the Ringbearer had fled into Mordor and had been residing there since then. All previous attempts to locate him had been fruitless and some thought that perhaps he didn't go into Mordor after all and went elsewhere.

Now a lead was finally found.

"Are there any others?" he pressed.

"No!" Gollum cried. "But you must let us go! We must go and find the Precious! We needs it! It's ours!"

"I will not let you lay your filthy hands upon it. The Ring has only one, true master and you are not it. It will be returned to him. You have also proven your worth to me. You can provide nothing more to assist me, wretch."

He gave him no time to react. The Witch-king applied pressure and crushed his skull. The sound of gore gushing and bones shattering filled the air. Gollum didn't even let out a single sound as his head was crushed like a piece of rotten, overripe fruit. He hardly even felt anything as he was brutally but swiftly executed.

The Witch-king then removed his foot from the squashed cranium and turned to the two Nazgûl who stood by and witnessed the interrogation. They stood motionlessly and silently but they had watched the whole spectacle. They were no strangers to this type of cruelty.

"If we found Gollum here, it is likely Baggins is close by," he told them. "That pest has a knack for sniffing the Ring out it seems and it's possible you captured him while he was stalking the Hobbit. Resume your search; it's likely he's in the area. Make haste and don't stall."

"Yes, sir," the duo said in unison.

They hurried off to the direction where they left their winged mounts. Despite the rugged and hostile terrain, they moved about swiftly and with sure feet. They wouldn't delay anything and they would find the Ring if they could.

The Witch-king merely held his ground, scanning the area around him and trying to see if he could see any hints of the Ringbearer. If he put the Ring on, he would've known instantly. However, it appeared to him that he was clever and hadn't done so. While he had fallen to the power of the Ring, he also seemed to know he was in a precarious and dangerous place. The Hobbit was wise and he silently applauded him for that.

He paid no heed to the twitching corpse of Gollum and began to walk back to his own fell beast. He left the body where it lay, not feeling remorse for dispatching him. He would be more of a hindrance than a help and he was in no mood to deal with the inane babbling of the broken and dependent creature. It almost felt good to be rid of him.

The Witch-king could sense that the time was at hand. He was so certain that the Ringbearer was close. He swore that he could almost smell him and the blood pulsing through his veins. In time, he hoped that he could finish what he started.

On Weathertop, he planned on enslaving him to the Nine. But now, he only sought to kill him.


	6. Festering Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are set into motion and time slips by, unfolding the future.

Chapter 6 Festering Poison

(one week later)

_You were fully aware that you were dreaming. You knew it was one because there was no other way to explain why you were home once again. There was no other reason why you were suddenly in that slice of paradise when you were once in Minas Morgul._

_You recognized the brown, timber cottage and the beds of wildflowers that were strewn around outside your abode. The aroma of burning cherry wood filled the air and a thin wisp of smoke wafted from the fieldstone chimney. The kitchen window was wide open and you could smell your mother's cooking; today she was making a blueberry pie._

_It was summer and everything was healthful and verdant. Birds were singing and the wind whispered and danced atop the canopies of the apple trees. The fruits were still ripening and it would take some more time before they could be harvested and consumed. The air was clean and warm and it invigorated you, filling you with some much needed vitality._

_It was exactly as you remembered. It was still as beautiful, quaint and pure as you recalled. You were so pleased that the memory of your home wasn't sullied or warped over the months. This was still sacred and unsoiled to you._

_As soon as you were about to take a step forward to enter your home, you could hear someone approaching you from behind the cottage. You turned your head, spotting the figure of an all too familiar man you loved and missed dearly._

_He was tall and thin but he didn't appear to be too gaunt; instead, it hinted to the rough and ragged life he had led. He possessed gray eyes and his hair was dark brown. The man also sported a beard. He looked no older than perhaps forty but in truth, he was close to one hundred years old. The man wore some drab, weathered but sturdy clothes and at his side he had a scabbard that held a sword. His eyes were stern but they also radiated kindness and patience._

_Your heart soared as you recognized this gentleman. Your mouth parted but no words came from them._

_"Grandfather!" you called out, overjoyed to see him._

_Suddenly, Aldahir seemed to change before you. His eyes inexplicably lost their warm gleam and they were replaced by a cold glint. His posture stiffened and his hands balled up into fists. The stance he adopted looked guarded and he appeared as if he was almost ready to do battle._

_"Hail, Lady of Minas Morgul," he said. His tone was almost scathing._

_The joy in your heart instantly turned to dreadful rot. Anxiety clenched its odious hand around you and you were held immobile. He looked upon you with scorn and disgust._

_"Grandfather…" you exhaled. Betrayal stung at your being and you felt pained to even look at him. "Please, do not refer to me as such!"_

_"That is what you are," he said. The frigid tone remained and it was obvious to you he wasn't going to soften. "That is who you have become because you are no longer my granddaughter."_

_"No, it is I! I am your Isilmë! You suggested my name to my father when I was born! You named me! I am still she!"_

_"Nay, you are not. You have turned your back upon your ancestors, your parents, your siblings and I. You have also betrayed yourself, Isilmë."_

_"I have not!"_

_You made your way over to his side. Aldahir merely extended a hand outwards, compelling you to stop and keep your distance. He didn't want you any closer to him._

_"Take no step further," he ordered._

_Your heart ached. You yearned to embrace him and be in his company but he forbade it. He viewed you as an enemy and a traitor and it tore you apart. This hurt far more than any stab from a sword or any other weapon._

_"It's me…" you pleaded. "I have not changed, I swear! I have gained a new title but my heart is still that which you know! It would never change, especially towards those I love! Please, you must see this! I speak the truth!"_

_"You should have resisted!" he yelled. "You should have not yielded to him! That was what you should have done! You have shamed us all by dallying with the enemy! You make our ancestors' and my sacrifice meaningless!"_

_"I was frightened and I did this so I could gain his favor! I did it so I could secure favor and power to safeguard you and our kin! My motives were selfless and true! I have brought Angwen and Venarion to where I am and they are alive and safe!"_

_"I care not! Isilmë, you do not understand the gravity of this. You cannot comprehend what you have done. The blood of our ancestors is on his hands and that will not be so easily washed away. Have you forgotten what I have regaled to you? History does not lie and it is never to be discarded. It's a guideline and reminder that we must adhere to and live by. To neglect it is a perilous undoing. You studied over such a subject for many hours and days and yet you act as if you have somehow forgotten the generations of knowledge."_

_"It was never my desire to have this happen! I have chosen to make the most of things with what I have and adapt from there!" You swallowed roughly and decided to reach out to him and make him see and realize what you had witnessed firsthand. Perhaps you could talk some sense into him. "Grandfather, you must also realize not is all as it seems! The Nazgûl are not entirely what we have assumed them to be! They are cursed, trapped men who are fully aware of their suffering! They are corrupted and their actions are tainted and influenced by Sauron but they have secret hopes to be free! They follow him because they must! You must believe me for I have been in the Witch-king's midst and he has confided such things to me! I hadn't believed it at first either but it is the truth!"_

_Aldahir's expression turned to one of surprise. However, that left quickly and was replaced by stormy, wrathful eyes and an angry frown. Now he appeared angrier than he originally was. It was obvious he wasn't moved by your words and was unwilling to listen to what you had to present._

_"Please, you must heed me!" you begged. "I am alive and that is proof enough!_

_"The Enemy has you in his iron grip and he will never let you go," he said with great spite. "My eldest grandchild has died and has been erased. All I see in my midst is some foul perversion who delights in the macabre. Your soul has been stained and upon it, there is an ugly mark that cannot be unmade. It will persist until time itself ends."_

_The area around you grew darker and it appeared as if time was fast forwarding before your very eyes. Your home was degrading and falling into shambles before you. The wood rotted and the chimney collapsed and crumbled. Soon enough, only the foundations remained and even the gardens and other life withered and disappeared into the dust. All fell into shadow and disrepair._

_"You have diminished," he continued. "In the end, you will regret everything. In the end, you will see the Void_."

(…)

You forced yourself to awaken. No longer could you bear that horrible reverie. No longer could you tolerate what you perceived was a demon lurking within the flesh of your grandfather.

Already, you could tell your hair was matted to the side of your head, saturated with sweat and tears. Your heart raced in your chest and your whole body trembled like a brittle leaf in a fearsome gale. When your eyes opened, they were huge and moistened with the salty waters of sorrow. Your hands clenched the sheets you were cocooned in.

You looked about the area, seeing you were truly within your chambers. It truly was all a dream. Minas Morgul was still your domain and it would remain so.

(…)

Truly, Angwen didn't want to be coarse or rude to her new servant. In all honesty, she thought it was disturbing how this old woman insisted on serving her and her other family members. She believed it was so perverse that someone as old and limited as she had gone to the lengths she had gone. She still found it incredulous she came to Minas Morgul, alone, and sought audience with the Witch-king. It didn't seem right to let Mariss clean and manage her chambers.

Angwen knew she was more than capable of doing it on her own. She desired to assist her but Mariss would refuse each time, explaining it was good for her and that she needed to do it. She felt glad that Isilmë was in accord with her on the matter as well. It assured her that those feelings were mutual.

"Do you need any sort of assistance with the bed..?" she asked, feeling out of place and awkward.

"Oh, no need for that, Lady Angwen!" the witch answered. "If I can move, I am in luck. I need something to do anyway. I fear that if I sit by idly for too long, I might simply turn to stone!"

Shrugging, Angwen decided to drop the matter. She wasn't going to argue with the crooked, old woman.

"Let me ask you something, Mariss," she said.

"Of course, my lady," the other female remarked. "What is your inquiry?"

"I heard that you have descended from a long line of witchcraft devotees. Why have you journeyed to this forsaken, cursed place and pledged your loyalty to the Witch-king in your old age?"

"Ah, you are blunt. I do like that, my lady. But that is a perfectly valid question. To put it simply, I merely wanted to regain the honor of my ancestors who had once served him long ago. It took me awhile to come to this place for a few reasons, some more obvious than others."

Mariss finished her task and grabbed her walking stick that was leaning against the bed frame. She clutched it, placing some of her weight on it. Her smile never faded.

"My age prevented me from arriving sooner but I was determined to make the trip one way or another," she resumed. "There is something else you must know, Lady Angwen. It can take one many years to become skilled with witchcraft. I also yearned to train myself more in the matter so that I could be of greater use to our lord. For what good is a witch if she cannot perform her trade correctly?"

"Yes, I suppose that makes sense," Angwen nodded. She grabbed a brush off of her vanity dresser and began to run it through her hair.

"His Majesty was a great and powerful sorcerer even when Angmar still functioned. He also possessed a warrior's prowess that very few could rival. And I have no doubt that his capabilities are as keen and wonderful as ever. Perhaps they have aged like sweet wine."

"I cannot say… I know little to nothing on things of that matter. I haven't known many sorcerers in my lifetime. You and the Witch-king are the only ones I have met." She continued with idly brushing her hair. Her gaze never broke with Mariss'. "This is still so new for me."

"If you show interest further in the matter, my lady, I would be honored to teach you the ways of my profession."

"That is unnecessary. I prefer to fight with a sword in my hand instead of speaking fell incantations and relying on them to strike down my foes."

"There is nothing wrong with a fierce maiden. I take no offense to your preference." She began to hobble over to the doorway. "I do believe that is all for now. Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime, Lady Angwen?"

"No, that is all, thank you."

"Then I shall depart for now."

Angwen watched Mariss leave, unsure of what to think of her exactly. While she wanted to be courteous towards her due to her age, the witch somewhat made her feel uneasy. There was something about her that she disliked and frowned upon. She deemed she had an obsession with serving the Witch-king and Angwen believed that was what had caused her to form this aversion.

As soon as Mariss opened the door, she gasped upon seeing Isilmë on the other side. The old woman halted and bowed, not letting her surprise get the better of her in the meantime.

"Pardon me, my queen," she said. "I see you are up."

"Yes," you said tiredly, "I am."

"Shall I clean your chambers while you are out and about?"

You wanted to argue and say it was unnecessary but you had no inner strength to do so. All you wanted was to talk to your sister and find some peace and counsel with her. The last thing you wanted to do was do anything contrary.

"If that is what you desire, then you may," you said, granting her permission. "Everything is intact save for my bed. I have only awoken a few minutes ago."

"Yes, my queen," Mariss replied. "I will have it cleaned and prepared for when you reenter it."

As she exited Angwen's chambers, you entered. Once you were inside, you shut the door and made your way to your sister's side.

You could see the confusion and concern etched into her features. Angwen ceased with the brushing and looked you up and down. Her worry seemed to grow as she observed you.

"What ails you?" she asked. "You look fevered and unwell."

"I had a horrid dream," you duly answered. "It was meant to be happy but it spoiled so quickly…and he turned into a stranger. He wasn't as I remembered him."

"Who?"

"Grandfather."

Angwen blinked and approached you. She grasped your hand and sat down on the side of her bed, bringing you down next to her. Her eyes were earnest and soft. It was almost amusing to see them like that as they were usually filled with mischief and fire.

"I am finding myself vexed and disturbed," you continued. "Angwen, do you believe he would think ill of me if he ever found out about my marriage?"

"I don't believe so," she said. "When you were gone, Grandfather was filled with rage and sorrow. We all were. We all wanted you back home and that was our only wish. He only cared about retrieving you and bringing you back safe and sound."

Previously, Angwen told you about your grandfather, father and brother's quest to track you down and bring you back home. You found it incredible that your three relatives made it all the way to Gondor, participated in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and managed to survive the madness of it. It pained you to know that they were so close but you were denied the chance to see them. Yet you reminded yourself it was probably for the better if you never met them or else they might've perished earlier than they had.

"He would have been quite cross but that wrath would not be upon you, Isilmë," Angwen assured. "His fury was directed towards the Witch-king and no one else."

"But I consented to that union…" you said.

"Under pressure. You agreed to be his wife to remain in his favor and for our safety. It was a sacrifice. If I was in your position, I would rather die than marry him. Nay, I would rather try to kill him."

"Angwen, you mustn't think or say such a thing."

"I am too crude and coarse to be anyone's wife." She chuckled and gave you a tender smile. "I would rather be renowned for trying to slay the Witch-king of Angmar and failing instead of being his queen."

"Your obsession with battle and obtaining glory through it is worrisome, my youngest sister."

"I care not. I was always fascinated by Grandfather's tales of ancient battles and selfless heroism. It will always enchant me. I cannot help it." She paused and her smile grew larger. "Isilmë, do you think they will weave songs and poems about us? Perhaps there will be legends told of the fair ladies of Minas Morgul who stood in the midst of the Nazgûl and lived to tell the tale!"

"I pray not."

Her enthusiasm was curbed as she saw your mood was still quite dampened and depressed. She exhaled softly and set her hand on your forehead.

"My, your head is starting to burn," she said, sounding surprised. "You must rest, I believe you may be getting a fever. Sitting in this miserable place for all this time will do that." She pulled her hand away and eyed you worryingly.

"I am simply worked up from that nightmare," you said dismissively. "I'll be alright. I can manage. I have suffered worse things."

"Believe me when I say that Grandfather wouldn't think ill of you. What you dreamed was false. There is much on your mind and you must try to be at ease. He loved you. We all did and still do. You are still the sister I know and love. Do not forget such important things."

It was something you needed to hear. It was assurance and you didn't realize how much you needed it until that point. Her words gave you some peace. Perhaps your dream was nothing more than a morbid delusion. It certainly felt that way but Angwen's words made you feel all that much better. You were thankful and felt so lucky to have her in your life still. Despite her more fiery and impulsive characteristics, she was indeed capable of tenderness and comfort.

"You're still the same despite the fondness you've developed for your husband," Angwen added. She gestured to your ring hand. "But I cannot suspect there is evil at hand at least in regards to you."

"Angwen, I know you think ill of him but speak to me honestly," you entreated. "Do you think he is capable of love?"

It didn't take her long at all to give you an answer. The maiden only shook her head at you.

"No," she replied. "He surrendered that when he pledged himself to Sauron. I think he is merely possessive. He might be able to possibly remember it but I do not think he can feel it or give it. Isilmë, he is too far gone. I wish you could see it. You can't help him. No one can."

(…)

Venarion thought he could've heard something around the bend. The boy froze and kept as silent and as still as possible.

Previously, he was meandering through the lower levels of the citadel. The depths of Minas Morgul was a place he didn't tread often and he had intentions of exploring it sooner or later. He had only gone into this area a handful of times before but he was confident he had some of it mapped out mentally. So far, the only things he came across were rats and bats as he traversed the corridors and tunnels. Other than those occupants, he found nothing of great interest or value.

But on this excursion, this was something wholly different. He could've sworn he saw something glowing in the distance. It was a soft, white light and it was a contrast to the orange luminescence of his torch. It was unlike anything he had seen before and he was instantly intrigued.

Cautiously, he crept closer to the light source but as he advanced, it dimmed out entirely and he thought he heard a shuddered breath. Venarion was fearful; he had no idea who or what was in this forbidden place with him. He was certain it wasn't an Orc. The boy had no earthly idea what was in his midst but his curiosity was drawing him in. He also had a dagger on hand if anything went awry and he reminded himself to be ready to use it. Angwen had given him it just in case if he came upon something unfriendly in his travels.

Venarion held his torch in one hand and had his other hand on the dagger's hilt. The lad stopped when he was at the branch in the tunnel. He saw the glow coming from the right and he couldn't see anything in the darkness before him. It was choking and pitch black.

"Who goes there?" he addressed to whoever lurked in the shadows. "Show yourself, I mean you no harm. I am as frightened as you are I think."

He continued to try to peer into the darkness, hoping to catch a silhouette or some clue of what laid within. But he received no reply. Venarion was reluctant to go further and still held his ground.

A small gasp escaped him when he could suddenly see the gentle, white glow once more. This time, it was advancing and he could hear soft, almost inaudible footsteps. Venarion remained still and kept his hand on his dagger, poised to use it if he was forced to.

As it inched closer, Venarion could make out that the being was the same height that he was. The glowing, phial-like object this soul wielded in his hand also revealed more of their features as they approached him. They also seemed to be dressed in filthy, ragged, torn clothes. It almost appeared as if they were living out in the wild for a quite some time. They looked tired, worn and it seemed as if they bore a great burden or anxiety on their shoulders. The person also wore no shoes, showing off some rather large and hairy feet.

The realization dawned upon Venarion as soon as he spotted the characteristic feet and he nearly dropped his torch in shock. The boy almost reeled back but forced himself to remain in his spot. He needed answers and he could scarcely believe his eyes.

"What's a lad like you doing in these dark and unnatural tunnels?" the Hobbit asked. "What's going on here? I was expecting Orcs and fouler things."

"I could ask you the same," Venarion replied. "What is a Hobbit doing in Minas Morgul?" The Hobbit remained silent for a few moments and he seemed to hesitate to answer. "Are you the Ringbearer? The Nazgûl are looking for you."

His eyes widened. The Fellowship was sworn to an oath of secrecy and the quest was to remain unknown to as many as possible. But this strange son of Man seemed to know about this dire errand and was questioning him about it.

"No," Samwise sighed tiredly, "I'm not the Ringbearer. But how do you know about the quest? No one is supposed to know about this."

Venarion let out a sigh of relief. If the Ringbearer was in his presence, he was sure he was about to panic. Such a person would need to get out of Minas Morgul as soon as possible or else risk a dreadful fate.

"I live in Minas Morgul," he explained. "My sisters and I are held captive here. My eldest sister has been here for over a year and my other sister and I only arrived here recently."

"For what purpose?" Sam persisted, still wanting more answers.

"The Witch-king captured my sister and she asked him to fetch us so we could be with her." Venarion desired to not discuss the matter extensively but he saw it would be best to trade words with this unexpected passerby. "The lord of the Nazgûl is interested in her and she married him to keep us safe. All three of us are here against our will."

He had heard of many strange and extraordinary tales and had seen many awesome and horrific things on his journey. But to catch wind about someone wedding a Ringwraith was definitely one of the most gruesome things he had heard. He was no stranger to those creatures and it made absolutely no sense to him. Sam pitied that these people were in this position. He pitied that they were stuck in this predicament and he had no idea what to think of or retort to this youth's outrageous claims.

"I have no real loyalty to the Witch-king," Venarion kept speaking. "I will not betray you. You are safe. You are lucky the Nazgûl are in Mordor."

"I could use some good luck," the gardener said. "I thought my luck had run out a long time ago… But what are you doing down here?"

"I have to do something within these walls. It's boring and the sights are horrible and ugly. Usually, I try to explore the city and leave no stone unturned, sir. How did you end up in this place?"

"Frankly, I'm not so sure myself. I stumbled upon it. I was in Mordor and took refuge in a tunnel. I kept following it and I ended up here. I figured I was back in this rife and evil place but I didn't know for sure. If I could guess, I'd say there are some secret underground tunnels that are running back and forth from this place and Mordor. Luckily, they seem abandoned and forgotten."

"You cannot stay here for much longer. I'm far from Orcs but not far enough I think. They won't cause me much issue but if they see you, it'll be a mess. If we both stay low and quiet, I think I can guide you out of this place."

Sam was hesitant. He thought this was so unusual and the boy's tale was even more bizarre. But he desperately did need to get out of the underbelly of Minas Morgul and be on his way. He had to try to find his allies as soon as possible. He hoped Osgiliath was still standing and he could at least locate Captain Faramir. The brave Hobbit only hope Boromir's younger brother managed to survive the crushing madness and hardship of the past year.

"Do you know if Gondor still stands?" he asked Venarion.

"Aye, it is," Venarion answered. "If you want to go there, we must hurry."

"Why don't you tag along?"

Very much so, Venarion yearned to go. He wished it with all his heart. He desired to be free and no longer have to worry about Orcs, Nazgûl or other minions of the dark powers. All he wanted was to go home with Isilmë and Angwen and try to restart their old lives. If he could never have another adventure again, he'd be happy.

"I can't," Venarion said. "I can't leave my sisters behind. I can't worry them and my place is with my family. We have no one else. Just please…tell whoever you're going to meet that there are three Men within Minas Morgul. Tell them we had no choice."

The sorrow was so evident in his voice. Sam found this whole exchange to be genuine. This wasn't some malicious trick that was designed to ensnare him and have him within the insidious clutches of the Enemy.

"Alright, lead the way, young sir," Sam said. "I'm trusting you. By the way, what's your name?"

"Venarion," the youth replied, "what's yours?"

"Sam. It's nice to meet you, Venarion."

"As it is to meet you." He turned and began to walk back from the way that he came from. Earnestly, he did hope he could get his new companion out of Minas Morgul without being detected. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about you either. I won't even tell my sisters about it. They wouldn't tell the Witch-king about you but they'd never let me go about alone again if they found out about it."

"It's much appreciated, young sir."


	7. Ebbing Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations are made known and hope persists even in the grimest of circumstances.

Chapter 7 Ebbing Life

(five days later)

Some days had passed since your unpleasant dream. The nightmares thankfully seemed to have ceased but the illness you had perceived that was wrought from your nightmare stubbornly persisted. It originally started out as a headache and made you feel drained but now you felt weak and there were times where you couldn't stand. You had to quickly sit on a chair or lean against a wall so you wouldn't collapse onto the stony floor and exacerbate your condition further. Sometimes you felt better than others and you carried about your daily routine the best you could.

As each day went by, it seemed to grow worse. Your body ached. The headaches persisted and your knees felt unstable and shaky. Your muscles hurt you as well and it felt as if you had been vigorously using them and yet you made no real exertions lately. Your strength waned and you became irritable for as long as you declined. It became difficult to tolerate anything and even the light of the torches was too much for you at times.

Your appetite suffered drastically as well and even thinking about partaking in food made you sicker than you already were. When you were encouraged to eat at least something, you only had bread, water and a piece of fruit. You couldn't bear the thought of stomaching anything else. It would be too heavy and harsh on you and you had no desire to spit up that which you ate.

While you felt the changes, you could also see them too. Whenever you looked into the mirror, you almost thought you were staring back at a phantom. Your flesh was turning rather pale. Your eyes were losing their healthy gleam and appeared sallow. Even your hair seemed to lose its luster and life.

After three days of this, you retired to your chambers and resolved to stay in bed until you felt better. You were certain it was a fever of some sort and you only hoped you'd be able to weather it through. For something like this, you believed rest was the only cure. The only option was to maximize your comfort and hope that your body could win against this ailment.

Since you restricted yourself to your bed, you mostly slept. Whenever you were awake, you saw the shapes and faces of Berwûld, Mariss, Angwen and Venarion as they entered your chambers to check on you. They wouldn't stay for long or seek to converse with you as they didn't want to disturb you. They were more than aware of your compromised condition and didn't wish to make things more complicated for you.

Angwen and Venarion lingered far longer than the servants and stayed behind with you to give you comfort or aid you in whatever way that they could. The both of them resorted to sleeping in your chambers to watch over you. To compensate for the lack of beds, they resorted to sleeping by the hearth. The fire would warm them while they remained with you. They were reluctant to leave your side and you were touched that they yearned to stay with you and wait on you.

"Isilmë, you should drink some more water," Angwen scolded. "Your body needs it to fight off this frightful fever."

"I'm fine," you argued weakly. "I do not need it right now."

"You will drink some sooner or later. You do not want to make this worse than it already is."

You merely ignored her and shut your eyes. At that moment, you wouldn't stand the arguing. Your head still ached and with each day that went by, it worse. You couldn't even recall having a fever that persisted this long and was of such a magnitude. It seemed to only tighten its grip on you and it continued to drain the life from you.

With each day that passed, it worried you more and more. You attempted to be optimistic and think that the calm would come and this storm would pass. But as it increased in its severity, it started to startle you.

The last thing you heard before you drifted off into slumber was the sound of Angwen placing more logs onto the fireplace.

"I swear, it is this city," Angwen muttered. She stared into the flames, her mind racing and her eyes narrowed.

"How?" Venarion asked. He looked up from his wood crafting project and faced his sister. He gingerly set down the knife he was using to whittle the piece of wood he was carving. "She is bound to the Witch-king, they have a bond. The Black Breath cannot harm her and this city's atmosphere won't hurt her."

"Perhaps that can only do so much, little brother. I fear we may suffer the same after some time. This was once a city made and inhabited by Men. But it has since been overrun and corrupted. We are not welcome or suited to such a place. This is the kingdom of the Nazgûl and their hideous minions." Angwen at last walked away from the roaring fireplace and made her way over to Venarion's side. "Something must be done for her."

"What?"

"Isilmë is unfit to make her own choices, Venarion. That is how debilitating and wasting this sickness is. I think that some time outside of Minas Morgul would be good for her health."

"That can't be done! If the Witch-king discovered that we did that, he would be furious…"

"I care not. I know my sister better than he does and I love her far more than he ever could. She is not getting better and I think fresh air and a change of scenery may boost her spirits and hopefully her health."

"The Orcs may also stop us and our servants may argue as well."

"As I have said, I care not, Venarion. They will listen to us because they have been ordered to adhere to us. They are to obey us. The Witch-king decreed it and they won't ignore his commands. If the king of the Nazgûl finds out and is displeased, I will confront him and do so without hesitation. I am not afraid of him."

"How will we do this?"

"It's simple. We will take our servants and place her on a stretcher. We will carry her out of the city and away from the Morgul Vale if possible."

"But what if we are caught?"

"Then it will be doubly fortunate for us. We cannot stay forever here anyway and you know this too. We have not sworn fealty to the Enemy. We will never serve him to begin with. Let us be seized and taken to Gondor if it comes to it. I will be happy and free and so will you and Isilmë."

Venarion fell silent, unable to remark any further. He desired freedom as much as Angwen did. But he also knew that Isilmë started to become more reluctant to leave. He couldn't believe his eldest sister was thinking this way and he hoped that this fever would make her come to her senses and make her realize she can no longer stay in that place.

(…)

_You were filled with apprehension even as you stood within this ethereal oasis of beauty. At any moment, you expected the vast field of flowers to burst into flames or have some hideous creature spring up from the tide of colors and rip you to pieces. Something was sure to ruin this heavenly landscape and turn any peace you felt into dread._

_At least in this dream, you no longer felt the pains your fever subjected you to. In sleep, you were given a reprieve and you were thankful to not feel the labors of the sickness._

_All around you were flowers of every kind that you could imagine. There were even some varieties you have never seen before and it boggled your mind. Without a doubt, it was the most pristine and beautiful thing you had seen in real life or within the realms of dreams. Purples, oranges, whites, yellows, reds and many other colors and hues lain before you. The field of flowers went on as far as your eyes could see and it appeared to have no end in sight._

_Even the sky above you seemed to be perfectly canvassed. The sky was light blue and the sun shone brightly but warmly. The light wasn't harsh but it felt gentle and kind on your face. Stray, white clouds slowly sailed across the sphere above, almost looking like bundles of freshly harvested cotton._

_For as long as you remained within this paradise, you could feel your mood change. The anxiety and fear melted away and serenity reigned within you. You could feel a smile forming on your face and you tilted your head up to the sky, allowing the light of the sun to caress your features._

_"Good, you are enjoying this."_

_The sudden but familiar voice hardly startled you. You still felt tranquil and at peace. You instantly recognized him but in this dream, the usual chill that accompanied his presence seemed nonexistent._

_"Of course," you said. You looked over your shoulder, seeing your consort approach you. "This is unlike anything I have ever seen! I wonder if this is perhaps a vision of Valinor itself…"_

_"I have had many, many years to hone my craft and practice different types and forms of magic," the Witch-king explained. He halted once he made it to your side. "I have the ability to influence and create dreams in someone and do so from afar. I have sensed you were in sore need of something like this so I decided to wait for you until you slept again. It is a technique I never use but I'm glad I remembered it so it could serve you."_

_"I had no idea that was within your power, I find that intriguing. It's surprising but very much welcome. That's kind of you to do that for me. Thank you."_

_"Of course." He took one of your hands and held it in his. Even the coolness of his gauntlets was absent in this place. "You are quite ill."_

_"I am. This is a very taxing fever."_

_"I can sense it has taken a lot of strength out of you, my queen. But you mustn't buckle into it. This shall pass."_

_"I am in good hands, do not worry. You must remain focused on your task."_

_You let out a small gasp as a tiny, green hummingbird with a ruby throated neck suddenly flew up to your face. The small, vibrant creature flitted gently, observing you and chirping quietly. You smiled at the miniature bird, finding yourself enchanted and enthralled with this dream and all within in. Then it flew off, undoubtedly to finish feasting on the nectar of the plethora of flowers to choose from._

_"While you are here, you may rest," he said. "Forget your sorrows and your weakness. Leave them behind until you awake. You deserve sanctuary. You deserve peace…"_

_This was a dream and an illusion he conjured for you. When you would awake, it would end but for now, you would be content to enjoy this temporary retreat. And you were all too willing and happy to indulge in it._

(…)

The soldiers who stood atop the ramparts of the wall of the White City were unsure what to think. There was a small, lone figure that was making its way to Minas Tirith's gates. It was hard to identify but everyone was in accord that this most likely wasn't a lone Orc. What they knew was that it was certainly strange and they were cautious about it. They didn't want to attack, deeming it was unnecessary unless if they were given no choice.

Minas Tirith and its defenders were in a constant state of alert concluding the Battle of the Pelennor Fields a year earlier. They were successful in repelling the forces of the Morgul host and its Haradric allies but the proud Gondorians knew that another attack was an inevitable. The battle had been a harsh and horrific one but the war was not over just yet. All were aware that the wrath of Sauron was great and he would undoubtedly regroup and rebuild and send a larger and more terrifying force than the last.

The realm was emboldened that the Heir of Isildur had come forth at last to accept his regal responsibilities but he was not king just yet. He wouldn't be crowned until the Enemy had been cast down and peace was acquired. But many were optimistic and joyful about it and were convinced that victory would be achieved sooner rather than later.

Rohan was also still closely working with Gondor on defending against the forces of Mordor. Although Théoden King had been struck down and killed in the midst of that battle, his nephew, Ếomer, stepped forward to accept the role of kingship. The Rohirrim were fully armed and braced for war and they wouldn't back down until the bloody and bitter end. Their place was beside Gondor's and they wouldn't waver.

For the past year, they waited, rebuilt, regrouped and strengthened their armies and realms. They were aware of the westerly realms being assaulted by Orcs but they remained in the East where Sauron's greatest focus was. The Elvish realms, the Dwarvish halls and the domains of the lesser Men were assaulted periodically but they held their own in the meantime. They all did their part to fight back the Enemy, not wanting either side to fight a two-fronted war and risk being overwhelmed and destroyed.

Amongst the soldiers that stood on the wall, there was one in their number who wore their uniform but was half their size. Despite that stature, his courage and bravery equaled the men of Gondor.

Pippin could scarcely believe his eyes as he watched the figure stumble closer and closer to the nearly repaired gates. He believed one of his companions was approaching but he had no idea who it was exactly. His heart raced rapidly and he was shaking in disbelief. This figure was staggering, clearly looking as if they were about to collapse, most likely from exhaustion, starvation or illness.

The Hobbit raced down from the ramparts and to the gates. He went straight to the gatekeepers.

"Open the gates!" he implored. "I believe one of my kin is approaching!"

"Are you so sure, Master Peregrin?" one of them asked. "They say there is only soul coming forth but it may be unwise to open the gates until they came closer and we see them for ourselves."

"Please! I have a strong reason to believe it is a friend of mine! He has been missing for awhile and we haven't heard any news of him for some time! He looks as if he's about to collapse!"

The men wouldn't delay his request further. They could sense the dire urgency and surety in him.

They started to open the gates but Pippin wouldn't wait another instant. As soon as the part in the doors was wide enough, he squeezed through and sprinted over towards the encroacher.

When Pippin was only one hundred feet away from this visitor, they collapsed. Pippin's eyes widened at this obvious sign of weakness and ran harder and faster. He wouldn't deny them of help for another moment.

The Hobbit knelt down and gently turned the battered being over so he could look at his face. Pippin smiled upon seeing it was Samwise Gamgee but his glee quickly turned to concern once again as he realized the severity of this situation. He supported his head in his hands, trying to comfort the fellow Hobbit.

"Sam!" he entreated. "Sam, can you hear me?! Say something!"

"Pippin, it's good to see you…" the gardener offered him a weak but genuine smile. "I reckoned I'd never see you again…"

"Stay with me, Sam, I'll get you whatever you need. Hang in there!" Pippin looked up, seeing several soldiers jogging over to meet and assist him. "You're safe now, no harm will come to you within the White City."

(…)

Although he was dehydrated, starving, exhausted and looked absolutely haggard, Sam was still conscious. He could hardly move but he still tried to communicate with his friends, wanting to tell them what had happened exactly. He experienced difficulty in doing so but he felt that he couldn't wait to recover to tell what became of their mission. Even as he was taken to the Houses of Healing to be tended to, he spoke to the remaining members of the Fellowship.

When it was discovered that Pippin had indeed met and recovered Sam outside of the gates, the Fellowship flocked to his side as soon as they found out. Pippin, Merry, Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn and Gandalf kept close to him and wouldn't leave his side for too long. Their hearts were glad to be reunited with him but the absence of Frodo hung ominously over them. As soon as they saw that Sam arrived at Minas Tirith alone, they knew something was horribly wrong. The fact that the Enemy remained in Middle Earth was yet another glaring sign.

Sam told them everything.

Sam had followed Frodo to the fortress of Cirith Ungol concluding his encounter with Shelob. Earlier, the fell spider had immobilized Frodo with a potent poison and was happened upon and captured by a band of Orcs. Sam snuck and fought his way through, desperate to retrieve and save his friend. The Hobbit also confided that he took the Ring earlier, thinking Frodo was dead and resolved to become the new Ringbearer and finish what was started. He did find Frodo and when Sam revealed that he took the Ring, Frodo attacked him. He said it happened so quickly, he could scarcely make sense of what happened. Frodo had taken the Ring for himself and succumbed to its power.

The Fellowship was devastated by this news. They thought Sam and Frodo were delayed but they didn't suspect the Ringbearer had fallen into darkness. Sam explained that he attempted to track his friend down to try to talk some sense into him but Frodo proved to be extremely elusive. He also revealed he ran into Gollum a few times and tried to get answers out of him on Frodo's whereabouts but the corrupted creature either attacked him or fled.

For months, he tried to hunt him down but to no avail. At that point, Sam said he made the decision to leave Mordor and flee to Gondor to seek aid in the hopes of finding other members of the Fellowship there. He said he needed to leave so he could tell them what happened.

But there was even more that he had to tell them. Sam also revealed that he had to pass through Minas Morgul to make it to Minas Tirith. He said he was able to have a safer trip through that citadel due to a boy who was being held prisoner there. The lad helped him through the secret and forgotten tunnels beneath the dead city and he beseeched Sam to tell whoever he was going to see that he and his sisters were prisoners of the Nazgûl. And the boy also revealed his eldest sister was forcibly wedded to their chief…

While Sam at last allowed himself to slumber, the Fellowship sat amongst one another and deep in thought. The news their compatriot bore was horrific, disturbing and worrying. It was a lot to process and they grieved over the fact that Frodo had given in to the temptation. If Sauron had the Ring once more, they would know it. It somewhat comforted them the Dark Lord was still without his Precious but it tormented them that the Ringbearer had fallen and taken it for his own.

"Perhaps this was too much to bear for him," Gandalf lamented. He was downtrodden and heartbroken over his friend and charge's downfall. "Perhaps the journey was too harsh and it broke him and that made him easy pickings for the power of the Ring."

"It was noble of the wee lad to try to track him down through that inferno called Mordor," Gimli stated. He took a long, solemn intake from his pipe. Then he exhaled it steadily. "But I pity him. He did what he could and he is lucky to make it out of there alive."

"We can only hope Frodo will stay out of and away from Sauron's hands," said Legolas. "The moment that he captures him and takes the Ring, it is over. It worries me that Sam could not locate him." His brows furrowed and he looked deeply concerned. "Will he become like Gollum?"

Gandalf was thoroughly sickened by the suggestion. But he did not lash out at the question. Sorrowfully, he acknowledged that it was a possibility. Like Gollum did centuries earlier, he had been ensnared by the Ring and it steadily poisoned and reshaped him after all those years. It broke his heart to think about it but there was no way to deny it. Frodo was very much on the same road Gollum took originally.

"If the Ring isn't found and taken from him, he will," Gandalf announced.

Merry looked as if he was about to be sick from that proclamation. He averted his eyes and hung his head low. Frodo was his kinsman and friend and he mourned over the fact that this had befallen him. He could hardly believe that this had occurred. Now he wondered if he would ever see him again.

"Gandalf," he said. After a few moments, he finally faced the White Wizard again. "What can we do?"

"There has to be something!" Pippin added. "We have to get the Ring and save Frodo!"

"That is far easier said than done and you know it, Peregrin Took!" Gandalf remarked. "The Enemy is rallying more of his forces and we have much to fortify and fret over. But you are right… Frodo may have given in to the pull of the Ring and now that he is ensnared by it, he will never give it up willingly even to Sauron. He will resist and fight if someone tries to take it from him. That is the only thing in our favor regarding this atrocious mess. However, so long as he remains in Mordor and the Ring is still in his possession, it is far too dangerous. The Nazgûl are undoubtedly hunting him down and it will be easier for them to find him. If they find him, kill him and take the Ring…" He shook his head gravely. "The tide will be turned against our favor."

Aragorn said nothing as he listened to his friends and allies discuss this matter. Like all the others, he was astonished and aghast by Sam's news. Guilt gnawed at him and the Ranger wished that perhaps he should have journeyed into Mordor himself after the skirmish at the Fields. He imagined Sam's remorse and torment over being unable to find Frodo and it tortured him.

The disturbing news about three people being incarcerated within Minas Morgul also gnawed at him. He recalled the time when he denied his fellow Dúnedain's request to infiltrate Minas Morgul and rescue his grandchild. According to Sam, she was still alive after all this time. Aragorn at first was doubtful that she would still even be alive. He told Aldahir it was more than likely that she was dead and long gone. He deemed that the lord of the Nazgûl wouldn't allow her to persist long within his realm. He assumed that she would perish in torment and agony. But to hear she indeed survived and had subsequently become the bride of the Witch-king was something else entirely. He was at a loss for words. Aragorn never would've perceived something like that.

It also appeared that somehow Aldahir's other grandchildren had been seized by the Nazgûl and had also been imprisoned. He suspected that they had been taken when some of the Nazgûl were dispatched to the West shortly concluding the battle. Since he sent Aldahir, Kalahir and Mitharion to follow the Ringwraiths and investigate, he had heard no news about them. He believed it was possible the rest of the family had been slain.

He was downcast by these stories and he felt as if he had failed. His heart was heavy and shame burned in him. He felt too ashamed to even speak amongst his friends and allies. The weight of the looming crown suddenly felt heavy upon his brow and he dreaded the future.

The stress, expectations and burdens weighed heavily upon him. His thoughts continuously turned to his beloved and he only hoped and prayed that she would hold fast against the advancing shadow. He yearned to see her, to hold her, to kiss her… His Lúthien.

"I wish it had never come to this," he at last uttered.

The eyes of the Fellowship fell upon him. Aragorn sighed heavily.

"I feel the same," Gimli commented.

"The skies have been darker as of late," said Legolas, "but it is not over yet. This city still stands and its king is within its walls. Sauron hasn't won. There are still many who oppose him. There is hope even in this grim hour."

"Legolas is right," Gandalf noted, "we must work with what fate has dealt with us and hope for the best. The fall of Frodo is catastrophic but we must adapt. For now, we can only hope he remains out of the grasp of the Enemy." His stare hardened. "Perhaps we will have to embark into Mordor and find him ourselves. The Ring still must be destroyed. It must be done. There is no other option."


	8. A Serpent in the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treachery takes many shapes, some less obvious than others.

Chapter 8 A Serpent in the House

(two days later)

Angwen wouldn't suffer this any longer. She knew that there would be some arguments and resistance but it still grated her nerves intensely. The opposition angered her and the young woman wouldn't take no for an answer. Her patience was utterly spent and she couldn't bear it any longer.

Two days passed and she could no longer sit by idly and hope for the best. You continued to decline in health and she decided to take matters into her own hands. She would take you out of Minas Morgul for some time, hoping fresh air and new scenery would lift your spirits and be less taxing on the body. The medicine and treatment that was being used wasn't working and Angwen decided another course of action needed to be taken.

"But the Witch-king explained to us that you and your family was to remain within the walls," the Orc commander said. "It is for your protection. Lady Angwen, I must protest this."

"Listen to me very carefully, worm," she spat, "as you already know and see, none of the Nazgûl are here. All of them are in Mordor running an errand. The Witch-king left his wife to watch over the city in the meantime. If she is his wife, that makes her the queen of this stinking pit. Currently, your queen is in abysmal health and she can hardly even stay awake. She can barely speak and move. She is unfit to govern for the time being. I am her sister and therefore am kin to the Witch-king through marriage. He also explicitly instructed you and your fellows to obey and respect us for we are the queen's family. For now, I am in charge. So…I suggest that if you don't want the Witch-king's unholy wrath upon you when he returns, you will allow us passage. I will tell him of your defiance and he will punish you as he sees fit. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

The Orc's jaw was partially hanging as her words sunk in. In all honesty, he thought little of Angwen. Many of his fellow Orcs felt the same but they followed the Witch-king's decree regarding her and Venarion. They dared not to harm her and they were reluctant to inconvenience her for fear she would appeal to the king of the Nine. They wouldn't risk it and have the Witch-king frown upon them. He wasn't above personally executing Orcs for insubordination or for other offenses and they all knew it.

"It's only for a short while and we will not go too far," Angwen further explained. "It is morning and we will be back before twilight. A small company of soldiers and servants will accompany us."

"Very well, my lady." The Orc wanted to vomit as he uttered those words. "I will delay you no further. I will send word to the gatekeepers of what you desire and they will open the gates for you. They will be waiting for your arrival. But what if the Witch-king should return while you are out? What if he demands answers?"

"Then you direct him to seek answers with me. I won't hide from the likes of him. You and your fellow Orcs fear him but I don't."

"Yes, my lady."

He gave her a curt bow and hurried off. He wanted to be far away from this maddening maiden and not have to treat with her more than he had to.

Angwen smiled triumphantly, pleased that she had achieved this. She folded her arms across her chest, her pride swelling.

"You could've been kinder and calmer, Angwen," Venarion remarked.

"Nonsense," she huffed, "it was necessary. He argued with me and he ought to have known better. If he wants to argue with me, I can do it better than he can. I will be the victorious one."

Venarion sighed heavily. He was no stranger to Angwen's boldness and tenacity but the boy still found himself overwhelmed by her at times. He was certain that if she hadn't been granted previous protections and privileges, she would've been torn apart by the Orcs already.

"Come, Venarion, the servants are waiting on us," she said.

"Mariss won't be accompanying us?" the boy asked.

"No, she wouldn't be able to keep up. She is too feeble."

(…)

Your eyes were barely open but you could see clearly enough that you indeed passed through Minas Morgul's gates. Now you were travelling through the Morgul Vale and heading farther away from the citadel. The last time you had travelled anywhere or seen some place new, it was more than a year and a half ago. You weren't expecting this turn of events at all.

Earlier, you recalled waking up and being lowered onto a stretcher. You tried to ask what your staff was attempting to do but Berwûld hushed you and encouraged you to try to go back to sleep. He told you that Angwen had temporarily taken control due to your poor health and had taken matters into her own hands. He said that she deemed it would be beneficial for you to exit the citadel for the better part of the day. Other remedies failed to give you any true relief and your sister hoped that a small reprieve from the city would aid you.

You said nothing else to him and rested your head back down on your pillow. There was hardly any strength in you to comment or inquire further. The idea of a day trip appealed to you greatly and your heart was filled with joy despite how watered down and miserable you still felt. It was also the first time you exited Minas Morgul since you first arrived there so you were delighted to see new sights.

"It's May now," Angwen spoke gently as she walked alongside you. She grasped your hand and held it tenderly. "The trees should have green and the flowers should be out. There is green in Minas Morgul but that is an unnatural and sickly hue. The farther you move away from it, the more you will see a good and true green. Isn't that nice, Isilmë? Doesn't that make you feel excited?"

"It does," you practically whispered. Your voice was hoarse and small and it frustrated you. "I think I would like to acquire a bouquet and have it in my room."

"Of course, anything for you. I'll make the best bouquet I can for you, my sister."

"Is there anything you may need?" Venarion wondered. He walked on the other side of your stretcher.

"No, thank you," you said as you gave him a tiny smile. "I'm fine as I am for now, Venarion."

"Just think of it, Isilmë," Angwen stated. She still smiled and she sought to lift your spirits as much as possible. "Everything you see will be youthful and fragile. Green… I myself have nearly forgotten what that color looks like. You will see it and remember how beautiful it is. The air you breathe will be warm and fresh. It will be laced with the aroma of flowers. You will hear the melodies of the birds. And then there's the sun!" She chuckled lightly. "I hope you haven't forgotten what it looks or feels like. You will feel the sun's lovely kiss and let its rays caress your skin. It will warm you and rejuvenate you. It will lift your heart and bring you joy and tranquility. You will see and experience it all, Sister. You will remember these things and they will heal you…"

You nodded at her, your eyes heavily lidded.

"Thank you, Angwen," you replied. "I am looking forward to such things. I fear I've almost forgotten them. At least I remember them in my dreams."

"You will remember, I promise. For now, rest. You need it, Isilmë."

Once more, you started to drift off into slumber. Even the smallest exertions took a toll on you. But you fell asleep happily, anticipating the things your sister glowingly spoke of. You sorely missed simple things like them and you yearned to be reacquainted with them again.

Angwen didn't tear her hand from yours. She still held it and would do so for as long as she could.

With all her heart, she hoped that this would be beneficial for you. She was at a loss as to what else could be done. All prior treatments didn't alleviate this sickness or give you any sort of solid relief. A new day would come and go and your condition only worsened. It was puzzling and she had no idea what to make of this malicious malady. Normally, you were rather hardy and would recover from a sickness within a few days or so. But the fact that it remained and worsened led Angwen to believe this might end up being fatal.

As your health continued to wane, it looked as if it was starting to manifest in another, startling manner. Your hair seemed to lose its luster and color and Angwen could pick out some gray hairs that were starting to crop up. She deemed that perhaps it was placing so much stress and strife on you that this was happening. Never before had she seen or heard of something like this and she was at a loss for words. She had only noticed it that morning and it made her all the more adamant to leave for a little while. Venarion said nothing about it and she only hoped he didn't notice it. She didn't want to trouble him further and cause him to panic at this discovery.

She didn't want to admit it to anyone, not even to herself, but Angwen was terrified. Desperately, she hoped her tactic would do something. If it didn't help, she wouldn't know what else could be done… The reality of your possible death was beginning to haunt her and she couldn't deny it any longer. If your condition didn't improve, she was certain you would perish. It was appearing to go towards that direction.

A thought then came to her as she walked along. If there were no results, she saw that she might have to send someone or herself into Mordor. She would have to beg the Witch-king to return to Minas Morgul and attempt something to make you recover. Angwen loathed having to plead with him for help but she was at a loss. She reasoned to herself that with his witchcraft, he could save you.

The young woman couldn't bear the thought of losing you. She couldn't handle the loss of yet another family member. It would be too much.

But she already saw what she'd have to do if death did claim you. In her mind, she and Venarion would have to leave Minas Morgul as soon as you passed on. Deep inside, she believed that the moment you left Middle Earth, she and Venarion would be in grave danger. With your demise, she perceived that the Witch-king would no longer protect her and your brother. They would be killed or cast out.

As her thoughts ran wild and as she evaluated the worst case scenarios, something else dawned upon her…

Angwen nearly dropped your hand once she considered it. Suddenly, she felt beyond asinine and witless. She cursed herself for not entertaining the idea earlier. She couldn't believe that she was so blind and unassuming. However, Angwen didn't want to jump to the conclusion so quickly. Although, she believed it was a likely possibility.

Her anger roiled brightly and hotly within her. Her whole body felt as if it was about to burst into flames at any given moment. She yearned to turn around and storm through the gates like a fierce dervish. She longed to let her rage explode forth and overcome the suspect. But she reminded herself that her place was by your side. She wouldn't forsake you.

As soon as she would return to Minas Morgul at twilight, she would seek an audience with the old Black Númenorean witch.

(…)

His head was turned to the west, sensing the weariness and weakness from afar. It would be impossible for him to not notice these changes. Even if the Witch-king wanted to ignore it, he couldn't. It was like a beacon to him and it only testified to how solid the bond was even in these dark circumstances. It was constant.

His fell beast gurgled and growled beneath him, becoming impatient with sitting atop its current perch. A sharp and terse tug on its reins corrected the winged creature and it went quiet and still once again. Even a terrible and mighty monster like the fell beast wouldn't test the power and sweltering wrath of its dark rider.

The Witch-king only grew more and more concerned with each day that passed. He could sense that your health continued to fail and make no improvement. It bothered him and he continually wished that this sickness would pass. To him, it seemed like this fever might very well make you fight for your life. The fact that it persisted and only worsened was most unsettling and he could feel that your life was weakening with every day. He desired to return to Minas Morgul and see what had become of you with his own eyes.

However, he was still bound to his assignment and trying to find the Ringbearer. He and the other Nazgûl made no progress thus far and there was neither hide nor hair of the elusive Hobbit. It was beginning to frustrate him and your failing health didn't help to placate his concerns. His focus with the hunt was faltering as he felt your life essence flickering like a flame with no more wick. It was distracting him and but he couldn't help it.

His armored hands clamped more around the reins, clenching them tightly. A low, angered hiss emitted from the perpetual blackness of his hood.

"Isilmë."

He ignored the distant rumbling of Mount Doom and remained focused on the direction where Minas Morgul lay. It called to him. He longed to go and remedy the situation. He would not let another wife perish. He would not be widowed once again.

Yet there was an obstacle that stood between him and his queen. And the Witch-king knew that he would need to address that obstacle. If he didn't, if he acted of his own accord and instincts, the repercussions could be disastrous. It would make things even worse than they already were.

" _Master_ ," he called. He only hoped Sauron would heed the call of their bond. " _I would like an audience with you._ "

" _Yes, my trusted servant?_ " the Dark Lord replied. Luckily, he was quick to reply to the Nazgûl lord.

" _It would be greatly appreciated if I was bestowed a temporary reprieve from this hunt. The other Nazgûl will still work as they have as well. But I will return to my initial task as swiftly as possible._ "

" _Ah…_ " The voice was smooth but there was definite undertone of menace and mocking to it. " _I can read your thoughts, my friend. They are troubled and torrid. Something ails your beloved queen. You wish to go to her and heal her if you can. Her life is frail and fading._ "

" _Yes. That is all I desire. I want to see her for myself and see if I can enable her to recover. After she has improved, I will promptly return to my task._ "

" _If you made progress with finding my Ring, I would be more than happy to honor your request. But it remains hidden and lost._ "

" _My lord, Baggins is a slippery creature and he undoubtedly knows he is being hunted. He has most likely hidden away in some crevice or some other remote place and is biding his time._ "

" _Excuses. Excuses…nothing more, nothing less._ "

" _I speak the truth! Please, my lord, allow me this small favor! I beg of you!_ "

" _I care not what happens to her and you know this all too well, Witch-king. She is not your greatest priority because I have deemed it not to be. Focus on the task at hand. If you make progress, perhaps I will allow you to see her. For now, I deny you. Get back to work._ "

He could feel Sauron sever the connection as soon as he finished speaking. Clearly, he was not interested in conversing over the matter.

The Witch-king boiled with rage over his lord's verdict. He still desired to go to his dark realm and see what the matter was. For as long as this sickness dwelled, it would continue to bother and hound him. A strange, suspicious feeling swam around inside him and he couldn't ignore it. The more he meditated over the matter, the more it seemed to him that it was more than just a powerful fever.

But for now, he decided to unwillingly heed his master's choice. He could feel Sauron's influence weighing upon him and he was compelled to follow that pull. The fallen Maiar was trying to manipulate him even from afar. The corruption lingered as it always did. It warred with his desire to see you. Deep inside, he feared that his master's whim would overpower his. It always was that way and he hated how powerless and hapless he was before the mightier power.

The two wills battled each other and he deplored it.

(later that day)

"Venarion, please watch Isilmë while I am gone," Angwen instructed.

"We've just come back from the wilderness only an hour ago," Venarion said. "Where are you off to?"

"I have an errand I dare not delay. Please…watch her. Tend to her as needed. I hope this will not take long."

Venarion disliked the sudden change in Angwen's behavior. Earlier, she refused to leave their sister's side but now she insisted on disappearing for a little while. The boy knew there was something afoot but he had no idea what it was. He desired answers but she wouldn't give him any.

"I will return, I am not leaving the city," she assured. "I need to speak with the servants. I may ask one of them to ride to Mordor and seek the Witch-king to help us in this matter. I am not sure what else to do. We do not have a choice."

"I see," he said. "Please, Angwen. Mind your temper as well. Don't make things worse than they already are."

"I will try."

Angwen turned to the earthen pot that held a bouquet of daffodils. It sat on the same table top that bore a vessel filled with dried and crushed herbs. The flowers were a welcome splash of color and beauty within the cold chambers. She could've sworn that they were already wilting. They had water but she knew that the city's atmosphere and lack of light would surely cause them to spoil faster.

The young woman wouldn't say anything else to him. She turned on her heels and exited her sister's quarters. She wouldn't allow another moment to be delayed.

When you were out of Minas Morgul and in the wilderness surrounding it, you seemed to brighten up and had more strength. You were able to stay awake longer but you were bound to your stretcher. Angwen was encouraged by this improvement and was happy to see you were faring better even if it was a little bit. She stayed out for as long as she could but only returned to the city when twilight was threatening.

Luckily, spring was in its fullest phase. The sun was bright and shining and the Orcish servants had to retreat to the shade of the trees and rocks as the luminosity hurt them. Birds were singing, flowers were blossoming and it was almost too serene and calm. One might've never guessed that the borders of the Nazgûls' domain were only a few miles away. Things were almost too ideal but Angwen cared nothing of it. She was only happy to see green, life and good things. It was an oasis between the lands of shadow and the lands of Men.

But when it was time to depart, she indeed noticed how you seemed to decline yet again as you drew closer to Minas Morgul. It alarmed and frightened her and Angwen was almost tempted to break her promise. Despite that, she carried on, remembering what she was to do when she'd arrive at her cold and dark home. That was what had her utterly convinced it was the city itself that might've been the cause of this sickness. Or better yet, something that laid within the cursed realm.

Angwen strode to her destination, her footfalls purposeful and echoing of impending wrath. She travelled through corridors and down stairwells, making her way to a single area. She ignored the beings she crossed paths with in her journey. Her focus was deadly and steely and she wouldn't back down from the matter at hand.

At last, she made it to the servants' quarters. Angwen travelled this wing until she made it to her true destination. The girl stopped at a particular door and she resisted the urge to barge in. She pounded an open palm against the wooden surface.

"Mariss, open the door right now!" she demanded.

"You may come in, Lady Angwen," the old woman responded not even a few seconds later.

Angwen didn't waste another moment. She pushed the door open and boldly entered the witch's chambers. Instantly, she saw that Mariss was calmly sitting at a table, sipping on some warm tea she made a few minutes earlier. The old woman appeared to be entirely unfazed by her younger superior's visit.

"What is the meaning of this?" Angwen demanded.

Her fury was quickly building up in her voice. She made her way over to the table Mariss was seated at.

"Whatever is the matter, Lady Angwen?" Mariss queried.

Angwen's hand curled up into a fist and she slammed it down on the tabletop. It reverberated and nearly knocked off the drinking vessel that contained the witch's brew.

"Isilmë is fading," she sneered. "You know this. I removed her from this place earlier today and she seemed to recover. But when twilight was coming, we had to return… As soon as she started to come closer, she regressed once more. There is some evil mischief going on and I think you may be the cause of this."

Mariss looked shocked by her accusation. She sat in her chair, staring back at her with her sullied eyes. She was speechless and appeared to be at a loss for words.

Angwen stared into her marred orbs, seeing that some of the cloudiness had somehow indeed dissipated. She didn't know if it was some trick of the light or if she was seeing things but she was certain that her cataracts seemed to be disappearing. The crone's hair also no longer appeared to be snow white and she thought she saw it was somehow darkening, inexplicably and steadily reverting to its original color.

"Lady Angwen, I have nothing to hide as you can see," she said, her body quivering slightly.

Mariss' quarters were rather quaint but she had some space to move about. Angwen surveyed the area, seeing it was rather bare and only possessed a bed and a few pieces of furniture. But the girl was convinced there was something wrong somewhere. She would seek it out and deal with it.

She walked away from Mariss' seat and she proceeded to tear the room apart. Angwen ripped the drawers out of her cabinets and unceremoniously spilled the contents all over the floor. Even the mattress was overturned and Angwen pushed the bed frame as far as she could to see if there was anything hidden away underneath it. No surface was unexplored. Nothing was unseen or unchecked by her fierce and vigilant gaze.

It was maddening but there seemed to be no evidence pointing to this supposed sabotage of her sister's vitality. Angwen brooded as she looked over the mess she created, seeing there was nothing damning. However, she couldn't ignore her gut feeling that something was terribly off and wrong about all of this. The subtle signs she saw in Mariss' appearance revealed everything to her. Now she was convinced she was the reason why Isilmë was only failing.

"You dare do this, you deplorable hag?" Angwen vented. "Your duty is to protect and serve the queen!" Mariss never seemed to blink for as long as she maintained eye contact with her. "You are a snake… I should have suspected this vulgar treachery days earlier."

"My loyalty is indeed undying and unwavering, my lady," Mariss asserted. "I am guilty of nothing, as you can see. Perhaps it is merely a fever and nothing more. Perhaps it is simply nature taking its course."

Something snapped inside of Angwen at that very moment. Her fury had finally reached its zenith and she could no longer hold it back.

Without warning, she made her way to Mariss. She hoisted her up out of her chair and threw her against the wall. Angwen still held fast to the witch and pinned her against the wall. In her anger, her body became stronger than usual and she was able to lift the older female upwards and hold her in her place.

Mariss' eyes were huge in disbelief and terror. She stared back at Angwen frightfully and her legs weakly kicked out, trying to free herself from the ferocious and iron grip the young part Dúnedain girl locked her in.

"Not too long after you reared your hideous face here, she started to fade!" Angwen yelled. "She continues to wither and fight and the moment she comes closer to Minas Morgul and to you, her health declines again! You are the cause of this! Confess or I will kill you myself, right here, right now!"

"My lady, you are mistaken!" the other stated. "My loyalty is unquestioning and I wouldn't do such a thing!"

"I will not hesitate to slay you! Why have you done this?! What has she done to you to warrant this outrage? Nay, you needn't worry about the Witch-king laying a hand on you for your treachery! You ought to fear me more than any other being in all of Middle Earth!"

There was shouting and the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Angwen hardly paid the sound any heed. It was the least of her concerns and she wouldn't back down now that she had Mariss in her grip.

"I am innocent, my lady!" Mariss pleaded.

"You are a liar!" Angwen practically screamed into her face. She slammed her against the wall again. "Confess what you have done! Heal her, you snake!"

Three Orcs came into the room, following the noise of the confrontation. Upon seeing Angwen suspending and pinning Mariss to the wall, they descended upon the younger woman. Angwen kicked and screamed as they pried her away from the witch and she flailed about in reckless abandon as the larger and stronger Orcs overpowered her.

"Unhand me!" she shouted. "Obey me and seize Mariss! She is the cause of my sister's downfall!"

The Orcs were deaf to her commands and that prompted Angwen to only fight harder. However, they held fast and sturdy, keeping her restrained and unable to break free. Again, she persisted but the results were still the same. They were also silent and hadn't uttered a word or noise since they entered Mariss' chambers.

It didn't occur to Angwen until then that perhaps these Orcs were bewitched. Under her nose, it was likely the ancient spell caster had chosen and recruited these warriors to serve as servants of her own. She figured that was the sole cause why they disobeyed her and came to Mariss' aid. It was either that or they had willingly betrayed her and some sort of coup was unfolding before her very eyes.

Mariss propped herself up from the floor and took a moment to settle. She collected herself and turned to Angwen again. Her mouth parted, contorting into cruel and ugly smile. Gravelly, guttural laughter came from her maw and she drew closer to the restrained form of Angwen.

"I'll kill you!" Angwen swore. "When I am released, I will see to it that you pay dearly for this!"

"Lady Angwen…" Mariss said. "It is so endearing to see that the queen has such a reliable and loyal knight at her side. Originally, I perceived you to be far duller but you do have an ounce of wit in that iron skull of yours. Lady Isilmë is lucky to have family members who clearly care for her in her darkest days."

"Why have you betrayed her? Why have you defied the orders of the Witch-king? You swore fealty to him and you said you would serve him well! You've betrayed the ruler you desired to serve!"

"Aye, I will serve him but I did not swear fealty to the Dúnedain wench he wedded. She is not my queen. Nor have I sworn anything to you, Lady Angwen. You are very troublesome, my dear. You must be dealt with."

Angwen yelled and attempted to lash out as Mariss approached. The witch extended her hand out and reached for her. The restrained girl fought and bucked but the Orcs remained in control of her. She screamed out again, hoping someone would hear her and come to her aid.

"I will make sure you suffer for this!" Angwen promised. "He will know! This will not go unpunished!"

Mariss said nothing. Her ghastly smile was still plastered to her face. The sorceress pressed her left pointer finger against Angwen's forehead.

Angwen gasped and felt as if her body suddenly lost the ability to fight or even move. She was being bound by some sort of magic. Her body was not her own to control and she was rendered powerless and helpless before the hag. Fear and dread filled her and she assumed the worst would come upon her. She assumed that Mariss would lay a curse of death upon her.

"Ease your troubled mind," Mariss urged the younger. "Let it breathe… Be at peace for the moment. When you awake, your world will be shattered and you will beg for death."

Then Mariss uttered words in a language that Angwen couldn't comprehend. Her fingertip still remained on her forehead and she remained paralyzed. The girl's vision started to go black and internally, she flailed about, trying to resist the spell that was being placed upon her. Her eyes were widened and they flitted about but that was the only outward movement that she could achieve.

Seconds later, she slipped away into unconsciousness.


	9. The False Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minas Morgul can only have one queen and its king must choose the rightful one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter was a hard one to write and I'm a bit torn about it. I may rewrite it in the future but I'm unsure as of yet. If you guys have any suggestions/comments, have at it. I'm only aiming to improve.
> 
> Thanks and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 9 The False Queen

(…)

An hour had passed since Angwen's departure and Venarion was still alone. He remained quiet and nervous as he sat beside your unmoving, sleeping shape. The boy couldn't even bear to look at you as it made him feel terrible and uneasy. You were once full of vigor and life and now you looked as if you were on your way to becoming a corpse. It filled him with awful fright and he found himself wondering if the next day would be your final one.

He waited for his other sister, anxiously awaiting her. Venarion didn't trust Angwen and he feared one of her outbursts might end up with her in serious trouble sooner or later. As tempting as it was to track her down and find her, he didn't dare to leave your side. For now, he was watching you and he was reluctant to part from your side while you were declining.

The demise of his grandfather, parents and two siblings still weighed heavily on his mind and Venarion loathed thinking that perhaps you would join them in death. He was frightened and he wasn't sure if he was capable of dealing with another doom like this. He sorely missed his deceased kin and he didn't want his two sisters to join them for many, many more years.

With all his might, he tried to remain positive and hope for the best although it was very hard to do so. He attempted to remain lighthearted and assume this darkness would pass. But to his horror, it lingered and gained a strong foothold. It appeared to him that this sickness might very well claim you. Venarion had no idea how much more time you had left either.

The boy felt it odd that despite his worries and anxieties, he suddenly found himself becoming weary. With each second that ticked by, it became harder for him to keep his eyes open. This sudden desire for sleep made no sense to him but he knew he was indeed exhausted. He had went on a long walk earlier that day and it was getting later into the evening. Perhaps he needed rest more than he originally deemed.

It didn't take the youth long to surrender. He closed his eyes, giving in to this urge and falling asleep in the chair he sat in. His form slumped slightly in his seat and he was plunged into a deep sleep.

A minute after Venarion surrendered to this sudden onset of slumber, you were jarred back to wakefulness by a chilling and merciless cold. It was so frigid that you could see the warm, shallow exhales you emitted. It almost felt like your bones were frozen solid and your limbs couldn't move. Although it was typically a bit chilly in your chambers, this sudden drop in the temperature was far worse than it usually was.

Your eyes widened as you saw the vessel filled with daffodils magically shrivel up before you. Your jaw dropped at this morbid spectacle and you were stunned by this rapid degeneration. The flowers' color faded rapidly and they swiftly dried up. It almost looked as if they had been drained of their essence.

Your attention was drawn away from the lifeless bouquet when you heard the door open and then close. For a few seconds, nothing else happened. But shortly enough, to your horror, you saw a shadowy figure crawl across the floor at an inhuman speed. It moved like a spider and it chilled the blood in your veins. Your stomach turned to rot and you desired to fight back against whatever it was but you knew you didn't have the strength.

Thankfully, the entity stopped just short of your bed. Your face evolved into an expression of disgust as the loud cracking of bones filled your ears and the shape became bipedal. Whatever this thing was, you had no idea and for a minute, you thought you were experiencing a horrific, realistic nightmare.

Once it bent and twisted itself back into its true, upright form, you found yourself staring back at Mariss' visage. To your surprise, she seemed younger but you could tell that she was still quite old. It felt as if a pair of cold, invisible hands was squeezing around your heart and you squirmed in revulsion and fear. You yearned to distance yourself from this person but you were trapped by your own weakened body.

"How are you faring tonight, my lady?" Mariss asked.

You didn't realize it until that moment. Mariss was the cause of this mysterious malady that was slowly killing you. Her restoring features revealed all to you. At first, you thought she wasn't capable of this deceit and you believed that her heart was earnest and true. She tricked you and presented you with a kindly façade. You were completely blind to her evil heart and intentions. You felt foolish for trusting her too much and even bothering to give her a chance. You had assumed because she was so old, she wouldn't pose a threat. Mariss would be compliant and would serve… It physically hurt you to learn the truth of the matter.

"What has moved you to such wickedness?" you demanded. You were angered but it was barely noticeable due to your sapped strength.

"Lady Isilmë, you needn't worry about anything anymore," the witch smiled cruelly. "You see, I know you thought you weren't fit to be a queen, particularly to be the wife of my lord and master. To be completely frank, I couldn't agree more. You are unworthy. It is also an insult that the Witch-king chose a bride from such deplorable stock. It appears to me that he has forgotten that he decimated the Dúnedain and their wretched kingdoms. I am proud of my heritage, Morgul lady. I will not forgive and forget your ancestors and their descendants."

Her betrayal burned you and filled you with ire and rage. Her treachery and villainy made you want to rise up from your bed and strike her down with your bare hands. She was responsible for your decline and you only wished you saw earlier how much of a threat she really was. Mariss' continued presence also threatened the livelihood of your siblings as well and you wished to be rid of the two-faced sorceress.

"Are you such a loathsome coward that you cannot kill me face to face?" you wondered. "You had to resort to witchcraft to afflict me and weaken me? And how vain and despicable are you to drain me of my life and replenish your own?"

"Don't act so hurt and slighted!" Mariss chuckled. "Besides, killing you would be such a reckless act. Why waste such a young and healthy life when I could drain it and use it to restore my own? I need you alive. When I arrived here, I knew I didn't have much time left. I knew I was reaching the end of my days. But when I met you, I saw I could exercise and test an ancient and fell art many have forgotten. You are a beautiful woman and I coveted that. I yearned to have your looks and youth and I promise I will not squander your generous gift, my queen… I will put it to good use."

Your eyes turned to Venarion's shape, forgetting that he was in your room. He was unmoving in his seat and he looked like he was fast asleep. Panic was starting to seize you and you looked about furiously for any signs of Angwen.

"Do not be troubled, my dear," Mariss said, easily seeing your mounting horror. "Lady Angwen and Lord Venarion are in a deep sleep. They will remain in that slumber until I awake them. My spells are not so easily broken. And do not bother crying out for help, I have enchanted this entire room until I depart. None shall hear you."

"You are a coward," you condemned her. "You only confess this to me when I am spent and can hardly move."

"I care not what you have to say, Lady Isilmë," Mariss said scathingly. "It does not matter. I only wanted to relish your fear and anger. I will not kill you yet. No, I will continue to drain you until your body gives up on its own. It is as simple as that. I can and will rob you of as much as I can get."

"You think you can get away with this?" You chuckled lightly. "My death will warrant yours, crone."

"I will make the Witch-king see reason. He will come to his senses. He needs a far more suiting consort if he desires one. Perhaps someone who is skilled in sorcery like he is will suffice."

This was unlike anything you had ever witnessed before. This vile devilry and deceit repulsed you and yet you knew you could do nothing. Your energy was robbed of you and it hurt to even move your head. From afar, she plotted and connived and you only wished you weren't so unassuming and trusting. Her masquerade worked and now you knew it was too late.

"He will have your head," you uttered. "He will find out and he will kill you. You empty headed, selfish witch, you've condemned yourself." You smiled at her, desiring to use Mariss' own malice against her. "Your power and might is paltry before him. You claim that you can sway him and make him see that he chose the wrong consort. But you do not know him like I do. You have no idea what awaits you. Even when you are dead, your suffering won't end."

"You know not of what you speak," Mariss replied dismissively. She extended her hand and pressed a fingertip to your forehead. She was prepared to use the same spell on you that she used to bewitch Angwen. "Now, go to sleep, my lady. When you enter this slumber, there is no waking. You will remain in it until you perish. No need to worry, it will be soon."

You could only smile back at her as she began to utter the spell. You could feel exhaustion overtaking you once more but you remained defiant for as long as you could. There would be no surrender to this magic just yet.

"If I am to die, I will see you sooner than you think," you said. "I will meet you in the Halls, Mariss."

(…)

_As soon as he sensed you drift off again, he entered your subconscious. Although he still continued his hunt for the Ring, he could sense from afar that your condition worsened even more. Feelings of rage, hurt and betrayal resonated so powerfully in you and it relayed to him in no time at all. The Witch-king knew right away something was terribly wrong. He needed to know what it was._

_When he entered your mind, all was dark. It was like a void and there was no other feature save for the blackness that swallowed you up. It felt out of place and his concern was only magnified. The lack of anything made him suspect if fouler things were afoot._

_"What has happened?" he asked, approaching you._

_"It's Mariss," you revealed. "She tricked all of us and she fooled you as well. That woman is a deceiver and she serves herself. She is the reason for my decline."_

_The Morgul lord was caught off guard by your claim. He had assumed she would be the least traitorous creature under his command. This news of her betrayal was something he hadn't anticipated. It was almost unlikely in his eyes but he could also sense you were telling the truth. Your emotions told him everything. This reaction was genuine. He believed there was no reason for you to lie about something like this._

_"She told this to me," you went on. "She is draining me of my life and youth to make it her own. She has also bewitched Angwen and Venarion and they are as helpless as I am! If I had the strength and if I wasn't so blind and trusting, I would've dealt with her myself… She only waited to tell me these things when I could hardly move." You were beside yourself, frightened and overwhelmed by this fate. Tears were coming to your eyes. "Please, you must return to Minas Morgul! If it is too late for me, at least do it for my brother and sister! They need not suffer at her hands!"_

_To say that he was furious was putting it lightly and kindly. His hands clenched into fists and they visibly shook. Mariss' treason made him absolutely livid and he wouldn't stand for it. He had trusted the witch to follow his commands and according to you, she did the exact opposite of that. She was actively working towards draining you of your very life and he wouldn't let it continue another moment. He would see to it that her treachery wouldn't go unpunished. He would be all too willing and eager to deal out the consequences._

_"She has placed a spell of sleep upon all three of us and I fear we will never awake from it," you lamented. You hung your head low, mourning over the circumstances. "If she is vain and cruel enough, she may seek to feed off of Angwen and Venarion after she is finished with me."_

_"There is still life in you," he noted. He set a hand on your chin tenderly and tilted it upwards so you could look directly back at him. "There is still time and I will use it wisely. Her spells cannot be broken unless if she does it on her own or if a sorcerer of greater power nullifies them. I am far more powerful than she is so I will undo all that she has wrought and restore order. I will not tolerate deliberate disobedience and I will not let anyone harm you. I intend to see it through." He kissed your forehead and held your hands in his. "Be strong, Isilmë. You will survive this, I promise you. Be strong and don't succumb to her magic. I am on my way."_

_He was reluctant to do it but he left your mind, intending to sally forth and contain the traitor. Time was vital and he knew that a single delay might end up too costly and catastrophic._

(…)

He spurred his winged mount on, encouraging it to fly west as quickly as possible. The creature roared beneath him, obeying him and beating its huge wings. The fell beast moved as swiftly as it could, sensing the urgency that radiated from the Witch-king. It dared to not inconvenience or disappoint its master.

" _My lord_ ," the Witch-king called out to Sauron. Once more, he hoped his master would be receptive. " _I have a most pressing matter at hand that needs addressed_."

" _Yes, Witch-king?_ " the Dark Lord replied.

" _I have discovered that treachery is lurking within Minas Morgul. I was informed of it and I must make haste and dispatch the guilty party._ "

" _I can sense that this is no trickery, my friend. But I sense that this is also intensely personal. Am I correct?_ "

" _Yes_." How he wished that Sauron wasn't able to feel every single emotion and know every thought that went through his mind. " _A servant whom I had assumed was loyal is nothing more than a traitor. They are the reason why my wife is failing. I would like to deal with them personally._ "

" _Go forth and restore order and justice."_ Sauron laughed. " _It is a lord's duty to maintain his realm as needed. See to it that they suffer. Do not be afraid to administer grievous punishments._ "

" _I intend to kill._ "

" _You have my blessing. Rectify the situation. The other eight Nazgûl will hunt just fine without you._ "

The Witch-king almost felt elated that Sauron had given him this explicit permission. He was most pleased that he sided with him on this matter. However, he knew Sauron only warranted this just so he could spill blood and sow terror. He was mindful that he thought little of you. But when it came down to matters of power, he was all too willing to let his Nazgûl exert it over lesser beings. But he was pleased the Dark Lord was in accord with him and had allowed him to do what he deemed necessary. There would be no hindrances and therefore, no time wasted.

With as much haste as possible, he pressed on towards his dark kingdom.

(…)

"Things have gone rather quiet as of late. Wouldn't ya agree, Ǔlik?"

Grindel handed his comrade and friend the vessel of draught he was craving. The creatures sat down at a small wooden table across from one another. Then the two Orcs toasted each other and took a few hearty gulps of the powerful and unsavory alcohol.

"I guess so, Grindel," his companion acknowledged. "Don't really care honestly. It is nice to relax for once without feeling like you're walking on the thinnest glass and are threatening to fall into Mount Doom itself if it shatters beneath your feet."

"I know!" Grindel smiled toothily and nearly slammed his drinking vessel down on the tabletop. "I could get used to this! Who needs those nasty Shriekers anyway?"

Ǔlik was close to punching out some teeth from his friend's skull when he uttered those words out loud. Instead, he shot him a searing, scathing glare, warning him to lower his voice.

"Mind your tongue!" the larger Orc chastised. "There are some among us who are the Shriekers' bootlickers. Don't get careless!"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of those blokes!" Grindel rolled his eyes. He quietly shrunk down into his seat ever so slightly. "But they are rats… And rats have a tendency to talk."

"Exactly, so keep your mouth shut or I'll sew it shut for you!"

"Alright, alright, let's get back on topic, shall we?"

"Aye." Ǔlik took another drink of his draught. "At least with the Witch-king's wench serving as Minas Morgul's temporary steward, she is quiet and doesn't interfere with us. She doesn't impede or boss us around. She is content to sit up in the tower and mind her own business. I can respect that. I've got no quarrel with the Morgul lady."

"But I can't stand that annoying harpy of a sister she has! She laid it into Captain Iglish today…really bossed him around. Ya should've seen it!" Grindel tossed his back and howled in laughter. "Actually, now that I reckon it, I can't tell if I hate her guts or if I'm in love with that nightmarish woman!"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Ǔlik growled and shook his head disapprovingly. "She is a pest and she is a kinswoman to the Morgul lady. She also doesn't like our kind. From what I heard, the queen's family got slaughtered by some Orcs who attacked the wrong group of Men. She and the boy were the only survivors. Ever since then, she hated us and that's why she bosses us around and abuses her privilege."

"An Orc can dream, can't he?" Grindel cackled and elbowed his friend playfully. "Anyway, the Nazgûl can stay away for as long as they want, I won't miss them." He took a sip of his beverage. "We can manage without them just fine."

"The Morgul lady is apparently sick too. That's another reason why things have gone quieter…than usual anyway. I've heard rumors from some of the Orcs who are part of her staff. It's bad."

"Eh, it doesn't matter to me what happens."

The two friends heard the sound of armored feet coming up the hallway they were sitting off to the side of. They chose to ignore it, deeming it was one of their comrades hurrying off to do some task. Grindel only smiled and helped himself to more of his draught. Then he leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.

"Where ya off to, friend?" he called out. "Where's the fire?"

"Grindel..!" Ǔlik stammered. Shock was evident in his voice.

"Ha, I'm not falling for that, nice try! Let me rest my eyes!"

"On your feet, you worthless fool."

As soon as Grindel heard the raspy and fearsome voice, his eyes shot open. He tilted backwards in his chair, spilling his draught all over himself in the process. Grindel immediately stood up and straightened his posture. The smaller Orc's eyes were huge as he found himself face to face with the Witch-king. He had to choke back a gasp of fear as he stood before the Nazgûl lord.

"Sir!" Grindel laughed nervously. "What a pleasant surprise! Good to have ya back! Don't mind me and my friend, we were having a drink! Please don't scalp me! It was a slow night!"

"Are you sober?" the Witch-king asked, not caring what the Orc had to say at all. "How keen are your wits?

"We are, sir!" Ǔlik nodded. "We've had a few sips of draught but we're far from dulled! What is your will?"

"You two are the closest guards to the queen's chambers. I need you to make haste and stand watch at the entrance to her rooms. There is a traitor in Minas Morgul and I must seek them out. Guard the queen and make sure that no one goes in. If I find out you have slacked or allowed someone in without my permission, I shall behead the both of you with my own two hands. Have I made myself clear and concise?"

"Aye, my lord!" both of the Orcs cried out in unison.

"Now go!"

The duo dashed off as quickly as their legs could carry them. They wouldn't dare to delay his wishes and at the moment, their hearts' sole desire was to fulfill his request. Sorely, they yearned to live to see another day.

As soon as he dismissed them, the Witch-king set about on his original purpose. Earlier, he didn't want to begin his hunt until he had sent someone to guard your quarters while you were so frail and defenseless. He felt more at ease knowing you had someone to watch over you while he dispensed justice and vengeance.

The magical pull was strong and he could sense it as soon as he arrived in Minas Morgul a few minutes ago. It was impossible for him to ignore and he could easily follow it. No other being in Minas Morgul could detect it and all were completely blind to it. However, since he was a powerful sorcerer, it stood out like a sore thumb to him. Luckily, it would not be hard at all to trace it to its source. He would have to dispel the sorcery and deal with its tricky caster.

He hurried through the corridors, startling all who were in his path. Many of the denizens bowed to him, welcoming him back and paying him respect but he ignored every single being. They were the least of his concerns.

He could feel you fading faster than ever before and it gave him even more reason to travel with as much speed as he could. Undoubtedly, Mariss was attempting to hurry the process along. He assumed that she was becoming greedy…

The Witch-king followed the magical trail and could see it led him to the servants' wing. He didn't slow down and he followed the trail relentlessly. He only halted when he saw three Orcs who stood guard outside one room.

He could see a veil of witchcraft surrounded them and he could quickly tell that they were spellbound. They radiated a fell aura and it was apparent to him that Mariss had ensnared them at some point and forced them to bend to her will. The fact that she had bewitched his soldiers without his permission angered him further.

He walked over to them and stood before the guards. They stood like statues in front of him and he extended a hand out to them. The Witch-king uttered a spell in Black Speech, releasing them from Mariss' servitude.

The Orcs groaned and muttered amongst themselves, complaining of bad headaches and sounding quite confused. But the trio quickly readjusted themselves once they saw the Wraith lord was in their midst.

"Stand aside," he ordered them. "A traitor had ensnared you and I am here to end her."

Wordlessly, they did exactly as he commanded. When they parted the way for him, the Witch-king forcefully shoved the doors open. He barged into Mariss' room and it didn't take him long at all to see that a figure was laying motionlessly across her bed.

He made his way over to the bed, seeing that Angwen was on it. He could see that she was indeed afflicted as well. She was plunged into a deep sleep but she was alive and intact. To see that she was unharmed was encouraging.

The Morgul lord once again followed the pull of the sorcery. He paused once he saw that it was emanating from behind a mirror that hung up on the wall. He moved it aside, surprised to see that there was a hidden passage behind it.

He could feel and see that he was getting closer to Mariss' position. The magic was rife in the air and as he travelled further down the narrow passage, he could see the flickering of torch light. That had only confirmed to him that she was most likely lurking in that area. Bloodlust built up in him and he longed to weed out the one who sought to kill his bride. This was something he couldn't let come to pass. He wouldn't allow someone else to ruin the inkling of happiness in his wretched existence.

At last, he reached the end of the stony corridor and the room opened up. His invisible eyes rested upon the shape of a woman who didn't look like Mariss but certainly was.

She was no longer bent and hunched over. Her posture was straightened and proud. Her hair darkened and the cloudiness in her eyes had all but evaporated. Her skin tightened and had a youthful glow to it even in the dimness of the chamber. She had most certainly regressed and became more healthful but he could still see her transformation wasn't complete just yet. There was still an air of age prevailing over her.

He caught sight of a flash of silver on her left ring finger. The Witch-king immediately identified it as the ring he bequeathed to you before he left for Mordor. She had stolen it from you and claimed it as her own.

When her eyes fell upon his form, he could sense that she was smitten. She smiled and looked adoringly upon him. The witch took a few, slow steps towards him.

"You asked me to enlist you," he said, his voice harsh and filled with ferocious ire. "I was merciful and granted you the opportunity. I only asked one thing of you and you have defied me, Mariss." He hissed loudly, sounding much like a huge, grumpy serpent. "You have shamed your ancestors! At least they served me faithfully and didn't undermine my orders!"

"Sire, it is so good to see you!" she said, seemingly oblivious to his foul mood. "It is unexpected but most certainly welcome."

"Explain yourself for this outrage!"

She bowed to him deeply. Her bones no longer creaked and popped loudly as she performed this action.

"My lord," she began, "I will be humble and honest. The one you chose to be your wife is inappropriate. She is hardly royal material and she has a most undesirable family history. She is of Dúnedain blood and it is not suitable for the lord of Angmar to have settled for such a woman."

"How dare you!" he bellowed. "How dare you dictate whom I should settle for! You are a peon and I am your lord and master! That is none of your concern and business, you venomous crone! I chose her because I deemed it was necessary! I do not care if she has the blood of my enemies in her veins! I do not care if she doesn't have royal blood! I chose her as my wife and no one can sway that!"

"Sire, please… I merely thought she was an ill fit for you. I believe that a more suitable queen needed to be crafted for you." She smiled. "One who shares ancient power and knowledge alongside you. One who can understand you… One who…"

"Enough!" He was brimming with fury and he couldn't believe her gall and impertinence. "I know of whom you speak… You have no humility or shame. Sadly for you, my choice was made and it cannot be swayed. I would never wed you. You have disobeyed my commands to wait on and serve my wife and her kin. You have afflicted her and drained her of her essence. You have transferred her health and beauty to yourself and used it to restore your lost glory. You have confessed to me that you wish to kill her and usurp her in the hopes of becoming my new queen. She is on the brink of death because of you! This is inexcusable. Your actions were premeditated as well. You have given me no reason to pardon you or heed your ridiculous arguments. Mariss, I have chosen your fate and I will see to it that you suffer even in death for your disloyalty."

From within his robes, he drew a Morgul blade. His hand tightened around the hilt and he began to walk over to her position.

Mariss shrank back upon realizing she couldn't sway him. Her eyes widened and she got a horrible premonition of what was to come. She was familiar with the weapon he was poised to use on her.

"My king, please!" she implored. "I can prove I will be of far greater use to you than she ever could! I will love and serve you more than she is capable of! I promise, I will not make you regret selecting me! Let her pass, I need more time! Perhaps one or two more days and it will be complete! I will surpass her in all ways!"

He didn't say anything to her. The Witch-king drew closer, his dark and daunting shape looming over hers. He raised the hand that bore the Morgul blade, ready to strike her down.

Mariss backed away from him, still pleading and entreating her beloved lord. Her back made contact with the wall and she knew he pinned her. She gasped loudly and didn't dare to even fight back, knowing it was futile. There was no escape.

A loud and horrible scream came from her as the Morgul blade was forcefully plunged into her chest. The fell weapon pierced her all the way through her heart and a confluence of blood erupted from the ghastly wound. The Witch-king twisted the blade around, ensuring that a piece of it would remain in her. Then he withdrew it, aiming to have her bleed out and perish.

Mariss collapsed to the cold floor. Her blood was rapidly pouring out of her body. Her stolen essence was escaping her and as she lay dying on the floor, she began to revert to her original state. The youth she displayed disappeared and she gazed upwards at the robed and shadowed figure that stood by, watching her take her final breaths. Her mouth moved and tried to form words but none came out. The Witch-king calmly waited for her to die and said nothing more to her.

It didn't take her long to succumb to her fatal wound. The loss of blood was catastrophic and it was too much for her wizened form to bear. Her eyes and mouth were still parted as she breathed her last and her life was ended.

Mere moments after her death, the Witch-king spotted her spirit leaving her body. He smiled cruelly at the apparition, knowing that the Morgul blade had bound her to him. It was a deadly and wicked magic that he only used when he thought such a thing was appropriate. For this case, he believed using the cursed dagger was perfectly justified.

Mariss' immaterial, wispy form stared back at him, her expression empty and hollow. She could now look upon his true form now that she was a Wraith herself but she didn't react in the slightest bit. She only waited before him to hear his command.

"For your crimes, I condemn you to eternal unrest," he said. "I banish you from my sight until I summon you again or until the end of time undoes you. I will never release you. Go forth, wander aimlessly and suffer. Be gone."

Silently, she began to waft away from him. The newly christened Wight moved with the fine consistency and manner of mist as she disembarked to begin her cursed tenure. The soul of Mariss floated through the solid, stone walls, disappearing from his presence.

Once Mariss left, the Witch-king could sense he wasn't alone. He turned around, seeing the form of Angwen lingering at the small room's sole entrance and exit.

The maiden's gray eyes were widened and her stance was rigid. How much she had seen, he could only guess. He assumed she had awakened whenever Mariss was on the threshold of death and the witch's power had utterly dissipated.

"It is over?" she asked. "Have you cursed her?"

"Yes," he replied. "None may break it except a greater power or if I willingly release her. Sadly for her, she will receive no mercy from me. But it is finally over and she will never trouble you and your family again."

"Isilmë… Can you feel that she is still alive?"

It didn't take him long at all to sense that you were safe. He could no longer sense that you were dying. He could tell that you were weak and drained from being exposed to such a powerful and nefarious magic but he knew you would recover.

"Yes, I have arrived with enough time to spare," the Witch-king confirmed. "Do not fear."

"I must be frank with you," Angwen said. She swallowed her pride and bowed to him, showing him respect and gratitude. "Without you, Mariss would have killed her. That hag would've killed Venarion and I as well if you hadn't come. Thank you. We owe you our lives."

The Nazgûl was more than aware that she disliked him. Her hostility was obvious and he knew she still loathed him for whisking away her sister. Angwen wouldn't forgive him for the changes in their lives. She was bold, brash and headstrong and she willingly sought to antagonize him at times. He had assumed she would always sow strife between the two of them and exacerbate difficulties. There were times when he believed he would lose his patience with her in the future and smite her during a fit of rage.

Yet to see that she was truly thanking him for the intervention caused him to change his perception of her. She was happy and relieved that the threat had been dealt with and they would be granted peace. In his eyes, she earned more patience. She was still young and she had much growing to do as well.

"You are welcome," he said. "I would be shattering my vows if I did nothing."

He then remembered something.

His gaze turned to Mariss' corpse. A pool of blood surrounded the cadaver and he knelt down beside it. He grabbed her hand and pulled your confiscated ring off of the finger that bore it.

The Wraith lord looked over the ring, checking for any imperfections. It was still in the same pristine condition it was in when he first entrusted it to you. He gently cradled it in his hand and at last walked away from the scene of the fatal confrontation.

"Come, Angwen," he said, approaching the maiden. "We must tend to Venarion and your sister."

"You're going to leave her body there?" Angwen said, somewhat disgusted over the thought of Mariss' remains languishing in the room and rotting.

"I wouldn't even feed my winged steed her wretched corpse. This place will serve her as her tomb. I plan on having this chamber sealed and this pretender queen will be forgotten about."

Angwen didn't dare to question him further about the matter. It was done and no longer would they have to worry about the scourge of the witch. One issue was resolved but she knew that their troubles were far from over…


	10. The Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which foundations are shaken and hard choices are made.

Chapter 10 The Impasse

(…)

Grindel and Ǔlik were more than happy to be dismissed. They were pleased that no one requested to enter the Morgul lady's chambers and their guarding stint was uneventful. The Witch-king saw all was well when he arrived and had relieved them of their duties. The Orc friends noticed the Ringwraith somehow seemed to be in a better mood than the last time and for that, they were delighted and grateful. They wasted no time at all and hastily departed to resume their previous task of drinking and waiting for their next shift.

With the two guards disbanded, Angwen and the Witch-king entered the chambers. The girl rushed in as soon as the doors parted, concerned about the welfare of her brother and sister.

"Venarion, you are unhurt?" she fretted.

"I was suddenly very tired and then I woke up some minutes ago," the youth explained. "I am well, don't worry. Where were you, Angwen?"

Before Angwen could answer, his eyes caught the shape of the Witch-king's dark, robed shape. He froze for a moment, startled by his entrance but he settled back down. He wasn't expecting the Wraith lord to be back so soon.

"Your sister confronted Mariss but was incapacitated by her Orc guards and her magic," the Nazgûl revealed.

Venarion shot his sister a questioning look, demanding answers to this leaked information. To the boy, it proved to him that she had gone against his advice and went about belligerently.

"You should have minded your temper!" he griped.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Angwen argued. "She is dead and she won't trouble us again. She was the cause of Isilmë's suffering." The boy blinked and his eyes widened momentarily. His mouth parted, undoubtedly to inquire how it all unfolded. "I will explain it to you later, Venarion. Now is not the time. How is Isilmë?"

"She's still sleeping…"

The Witch-king approached your bedside. He looked upon your features, seeing that you appeared to be tranquil and calm. Your expression wasn't warped or contorted in pain and it appeared that your essence had been restored to you. You were a bit pale but it was most likely from the whole ordeal you had been through. It had been a great burden upon you and you would need time to recover and fully regain your returned strength. You were indeed alive and that was what concerned him the most. Mariss' magic had indeed been expelled but now your sleep was one spawned from weakness and exhaustion.

As he studied you more, he noticed that there was a thin strand of gray hair amongst your locks. He gently ran one of his fingers along the stripe of discoloration, feeling angered that you hadn't emerged from the incident completely untouched. The sorcery Mariss employed was strong and powerful, even if the process was gradual and took time to develop into its true potential. He only hoped that the witchcraft hadn't harmed you in any other way. Despite this, he was thankful this was merely a cosmetic side effect. You looked exactly as he left you and he was relieved.

Then he took your hand and slipped the retrieved ring onto your preferred finger. An invisible smile was on his face, happy to have returned it to you. For a moment, he held your hand in is before gingerly setting it back down on the sheets.

As much as he desired to awaken you and remain by your side, he denied himself the opportunity. For as long as he looked at you, he suddenly felt conflicted and confused. It was unexplainable and it came out of nowhere. It disturbed him and he was unsure of the suddenness of it all. This sensation lingered in his chest and it started to radiate throughout the rest of his being.

All he knew was that he needed to leave and dwell on the matter. He needed to be alone with his thoughts so no one could distract him.

"Mariss' filth has been dispelled so she is no longer in an enchantment induced slumber," he said. "But I do not wish to disturb her. I will let her rest and wake on her own accord. It was very taxing on her. Inform me when she has awakened."

He turned and left your bedside. The Witch-king made his way to exit the chambers but a voice rose up in disruption.

"Where are you going?" Angwen asked. "You cannot be leaving already!"

"Nay, I will stay here to ensure that all is well," he said without turning to face her. "But since I am within Minas Morgul once more, I must resume my duties as its lord."

Neither Angwen nor Venarion were given the chance to reply to him. He exited your quarters and sought to isolate himself.

(…)

Not many souls ventured to the summit of the Tower of Sorcery. It was a rarely visited and desolate place and whenever it was occupied, it was typically the Witch-king or one of the other Nazgûl who frequented it. Not even the Orcs would tread upon the highest point in Minas Morgul. They whispered amongst themselves that it was the most cursed and unwelcome place in the whole city.

To the undead kings, it was a retreat of sorts which provided seclusion and quiet. That fostered in chances of much needed meditation for them. When they felt that they couldn't relax in their quarters and needed to be away from their brethren or the Orcs, they went to this place. As strange as it was, it also felt as if they could even hide from their master in this place, regardless of how brief and silly the notion was.

On this day, the Witch-king of Angmar sought solace and refuge. His only other company aside from his torrid thoughts was the wind and the dark veil that hung over the dead city. He found himself pacing back and forth atop the precipice of the tower. An amalgamation of emotions roiled within his incorporeal being and it felt as if it was going to tear him asunder and scatter those shreds to the winds. In a way, he wished that such a thing would happen.

" _I made a near fatal error in judgment_."

He peered over the edge, seeing that everything seemed to be miles below him. His invisible stare lingered for a few moments before he looked away and resumed his pacing.

To the East, he could see the reddish-orange, hellish halo on the horizon that was Mordor. It almost looked like a cruel mockery of a sunrise that was about to creep over the jagged and treacherous mountains that encircled Minas Morgul. It looked as if the sun was about to rise at any moment but it was a dawn that was forever to be delayed. Sauron's presence persisted and as much as he desired to shutter it, he knew it couldn't be done.

" _I should've sensed or suspected this betrayal but I didn't foresee it. Perhaps her surprise was a telling sign but I had deemed it was merely shock and nothing more. I assumed her old age would've made her disinclined to such treachery… I misjudged. Am I that much of a fool? Am I that blind?_ "

Some very human and all too living feelings stormed inside him mercilessly. It was almost overwhelming to the lord of Angmar and he hoped his master in Mordor wasn't focusing in on him. He only prayed Sauron wouldn't sense the disturbances in him. Most certainly, he was experiencing resurgences and he knew that if he felt them, he would seek to suppress them and would react angrily. He would attempt to erase and subjugate them as he always did.

" _This thing that I feel… Is this guilt_?"

It was a foreign concept to him but he was steadily remembering it. The longer that he dwelled on it, the more he was certain this was it. Anger and hatred were feelings he was more than familiar with but everything else seemed foggy and harder to grasp and recollect.

" _I failed once. I…no, he sabotaged my previous life. I lost her. I cannot lose another. I won't let anyone ruin this. I have served for countless years and I have lost everything. I deserve something in return. He has withheld my memories from me…aside from her face. He let me keep that one because it hurts the most._ "

The Witch-king took a less than dignified seat on the floor. He sat in this spot, totally unconcerned about anything else and sensing he was still alone. Even standing felt like too much of a burden for him at the time.

He pondered over the mystery of the shared faces. The name of his first wife still remained unknown to him. But at least with you, you had a past and a story. You had a name and an identity.

" _Why does she look like her? This must be some cruel jest that fate has thrust unto me. She shares her face but yet they are different. She is making things more difficult for me but I cannot dislike it either. She makes me feel more alive than I could ever recall. It is confusing but…fulfilling. In the beginning, I took her selfishly. I yearned to possess her and make her mine. I wanted to relive what I once had. I wanted to remember and experience a reprieve, even if it was so temporary and fleeting. I wanted…_ "

He sat silent and unmoving. His thoughts became even more distracted and flurried. His head hung lowly and he stared at the cold and stony surface he rested upon. The world around him no longer seemed to exist as he was lost in his musings. Even the powerful gusts of wind that tossed his robes about and blew around him went totally ignored.

" _I wanted to maybe remember who I was before I was ensnared. I wanted some semblance of normalcy. I wanted to feel free again. I thought I would see some reflection if I looked hard enough. I am a frivolous fool_."

He needed more time to think. He needed to try to sort and interpret these confusing sensations and emotions…

(…)

At last, you could feel yourself waking up. Your eyes were still shut but you could already feel that you were much better. The aches and pains no longer tormented you and you felt as if your spirit had been replenished. Warmth encompassed you and you were no longer cold and drained.

You could hear the sound of wood popping and cracking in the fireplace. The smell of the burning wood filled your nostrils and a small smile came across your face. You felt nothing but peace and comfort and that only encouraged you to stir all the more quickly.

"Isilmë," Venarion entreated, "are you up?"

As soon as you heard your youngest brother speak, your eyes parted. You blinked, your vision somewhat blurred as the remnants of sleep clung to it. A few more blinks cleared your eyes and you found yourself staring back at the happy and relieved faces of your siblings. They were sitting at your bedside and it was likely that they had been waiting for some time for you to finally awaken.

"Angwen, Venarion," you uttered. Your voice was somewhat deep and groggy. You cleared your throat and sat up in your bed. "Is everything alright?"

The two said nothing but when they nearly leapt upon you and threw their arms around you, it told you everything. You laughed softly at the gesture and your arms came around them in return. Both of them were sniffling, giving away that they were crying. The noise set off a chain reaction in you and you could feel your eyes watering as well.

"You're finally up, Isilmë, that is all I care about," Venarion retorted. "The witch is dead and she will never cause us grief again."

Your initial assumption had been proven correct. If Mariss was indeed still alive, you were sure you would've been feeling far worse and poised to pass at any moment. It also explained why you even woke up. You distinctly remembered that she placed a spell upon you, forcing you into sleep.

And there was also the dream you had…

"She bewitched us as well," Angwen confessed. "I went down to confront her, I had a feeling she had a hand in this chaos. I was correct but she was rescued by a trio of Orcs she bound to her will. She sent me into a deep sleep and I didn't wake up until her power had been dispersed. When I found her, she was dead at the feet of the Witch-king. He smote her with a Morgul blade and he cursed her to wander aimlessly and without rest in Middle Earth."

He indeed did arrive and eliminated the problem just as he promised you. Your heart was glad to hear this news. He stepped in and saved all three of you from Mariss' power. It truly was a blessing and you felt so thankful he had done this for you. You only hoped that his act didn't aggravate Sauron.

Until that moment, you didn't sense him. He was indeed within Minas Morgul and you felt that he was nearby.

"How long ago was this?" you asked.

"Only a day," Venarion answered. "You only woke up this late because Mariss' magic was very hard on you. We didn't want to wake you up."

"The Witch-king said you would make a full recovery," Angwen added. "But there is a little side effect you have suffered…" Worry swam inside your stomach at her words. Your eyes grew larger slightly and she could easily pick out the anxiety in them. "Isilmë, I promise it's only little! Here, I will show you."

Angwen left your side for a moment and fetched a small object from off the top of one of the cabinets and dressers in the room. She then returned and gave you the hand held mirror, entreating you to look at your reflection.

You did so. It only took you a few seconds to spot the gray discoloration amongst your locks. Your innards clenched at the imperfection but as you surveyed the rest of your features, everything else was restored and looked untouched. The strands were grouped in a small section but it was still noticeable enough.

"It was from the effects of that draining devilry," Angwen explained. "That was all that happened and you should make a full and complete recovery."

You hoped she was correct. The feature was only aesthetic but you hoped this episode hadn't adversely effected you in some other, more insidious and unseen manner. Unfortunately, only time would tell and you wished your anxieties were only trivial and unnecessary. For now, you decided to let her assuage your concerns. What really mattered the most was celebrating your liberation from the wasting witchcraft.

You sighed and set the mirror aside.

"I'm just happy this is over," you said. "The hag is gone and we're safe."

"He told us to inform you when you woke up," Venarion told his eldest sister. "But I think you should go find the Witch-king yourself, Isilmë. I think he would be much more delighted if you came to him instead of us."

"I assumed he would remain here to make sure all was well," Angwen said. "But he left as soon as he checked on you. He said there were duties he needed to tend to in the meantime."

"I take no offense to his absence," you said. "He must rule and dictate because that is required of him. I will go out then if that's the case."

You moved to get out of bed. You set your feet down on the floor, testing your strength. Though you hadn't walked in some time, you felt as if you could stand and move on your own. You didn't collapse so it was an assuring sign that you could manage yourself just fine.

"You don't want us to come with you?" Venarion asked. "You know, in case if your strength should fail you?"

"I'll be fine," you smiled back at him. You set your hand atop his head and playfully ruffled his hair. "I feel as right as the first, gentle spring rain."

"We'll be waiting for you here when you come back," Angwen promised. "We'll keep the fire going as well."

"Thank you, Angwen, it shouldn't take long at all. If he is distracted and busy, I won't keep him from his duties for long. I just have some questions to ask and I wanted to thank him."

They nodded their heads, understanding and allowing you to set forth.

(…)

You couldn't recall the last time you felt so rejuvenated and recharged. Your heart was light and joyous, all too happy to have been pulled from the brink of death and to be given back your health and youth. Mariss' spell had been broken and never again would she trouble you or your family members. It was one less problem to worry about and for that, you were extremely grateful.

Still, you felt somewhat weak but you were more than capable of walking on your own and you felt fortunate. As you moved around, you carefully monitored yourself, hoping some unforeseen problem wouldn't crop up while you walked about. So far, everything seemed to be alright and your fears were starting to melt away for as long as you felt fine.

The inhabitants of Minas Morgul were surprised to see you out and about. You had no idea how much they knew about the full story of your ordeal though. Some of the creatures eyed you curiously from afar, a bit shocked to see you moving around despite your previous malady. Others bowed to you and resumed their business. You gave them a grateful nod in return and went about on your search.

But some of your happiness was marred as you felt the oppressive and dreary atmosphere the Witch-king gave off. As one set of worries were discarded, inevitably, another series of anxieties were presented to you. You approached the position where you felt he was at, feeling that that he wasn't necessarily angry. You were relieved he wasn't in a foul mood but it was still alarming to you. To you, he felt torn and perplexed. What stood out to you the most and what you never felt before in him was guilt.

You could sense he was in the area that had once been the city's gardens. The flowers and foliage had long since shriveled and died and it filled you with an eerie feeling. As long as you wanted to see flora flourish in this place, you believed it was an unrealistic vision. Such delicate forms of life wouldn't persist in this atmosphere and they'd have no real chance at survival.

As you ventured further into the desolate and barren gardens, you could see him standing at the desolate fountain. His back was turned to you and it appeared that he seemed to be oblivious to your approach. You thought it was unlikely and you drew closer to his dark and robed shape.

"My lord," you said, reaching out and placing your palm on his back.

You could feel him bristle at the touch and suddenly whip around, spooking you in the process. He was indeed unaware of your approach, only belying how troubled and preoccupied he was. You drew your hand away in your surprise and took a few steps backwards.

"Isilmë," he said. It almost seemed as if he didn't realize who was behind him until he turned and saw your face. "Good, you are awake."

"I am," you said, trying to gauge him. "What troubles you? Are you alright? You feel unwell and conflicted."

"I need to speak with you immediately. Please, sit."

He motioned to the edge of the dried up and broken fountain. The Witch-king took a seat, prompting you to follow suit.

"What is the matter?" you pressed, feeling legitimately worried. "Has something transpired while I was sleeping?"

The lord of the Nazgûl remained silent. His empty hood was trained on your face and you could tell he was deep in thought. His lack of a response only filled you with more dread and concern.

"The incident with Mariss has forced me to make a few realizations," he finally began. "You nearly died, my dear. If I had been a day or two late in coming here, it would've been the end for you."

"If that is what you are worried about, please, do not worry anymore," you argued. "My brother and sister told me what happened and you killed her. She is no more and all is right and well."

He only shook his head. The aura he emitted persisted.

"No," he asserted. "It will never be right and well. As I have said, I was forced to realize some things…"

He fell silent again. This was alarming you and this confirmed your fears. Something truly was troubling him and you were moved to comfort and support him in whatever way you could.

Gently, you grasped one of his hands. But as soon as you did that, he wrenched his hand from yours. It wasn't a terse or swift action but it was definitely deliberate. He didn't want you to touch him or hold your hand.

This made you swallow roughly. This made you fearful.

"What is this?" you managed to choke out. "Is the will of Sauron bearing down on you?"

"No," he finally replied, "he hasn't contacted me since he granted me permission to intervene with Mariss. Isilmë, this is entirely my will and my doing. Do not be so blind, my dear. When you first came here, I know how much you loathed me and my domain. In fact, I wish it remained that way."

To you, this was madness. You couldn't comprehend why he was saying these things and coming to these conclusions. It was beyond bizarre and you were stunned into silence. You remained quiet, wanting to hear more from him. You had to have more reasons for this.

"I am selfish and cruel," the Witch-king resumed. "I coveted you and brought you here so I could recreate some twisted mockery of what I once knew. You know this, do not fool yourself or act so surprised. I kept you here against your will and forced you to endure me and my affections. I wed you and I'm sure I am not your ideal choice in a mate."

"My lord, what you feel is guilt!" you said. Your tone was a little louder than usual and internally, you chastised yourself. You didn't want any eavesdroppers intruding in on your conversation with him. "I forgive you and you know this. You did those things because you are under the heavy and constant influence of Sauron. You have changed my mind about you." You longed to hold his hand but you didn't want to risk angering him. "I understand your blight and suffering. I understand you are imprisoned by him. I know you want to be free from him. I know that whoever you are, deep inside, I know there are still remnants. I can see glimpses of the man that you once were…"

"Do not cheat yourself, Isilmë. Do not think highly of me and do not have hope for me. I cannot be forgiven for the crimes I have perpetuated over the years. This business with you is just yet another one to add to that gruesome and lengthy list. I am doomed and too far gone. You may see flickers of who I once was but that is all it is. Do not take pity on me. With you almost dying by Mariss' hand, I see that I can never truly keep you safe. I cannot ever keep you happy and content. You will always be in danger and I do not ever want Sauron to take especial interest in you. I won't let you perish."

He reached up to touch your face but his fingers ran along the discoloration in your hair. It lingered for a few moments and his hand drew back once more. It was apparent to you that he was reluctant to even touch you.

"I have learned to not be so trusting," you said. "I will be more vigilant and I will learn to fend for myself. I know I cannot rely on you to intercede with everything. I must not be so helpless and weak."

"The magic she was using was an old and arcane one," he said. "It was passed down from her mother who learned that from her own mother in turn and it has been that way for generations. They took pride in their lineage as being descended from the witches of Angmar and they sought to imitate their power. It is a clever and tricky magic and at first, even I didn't suspect it was a spell she cast on you. I assumed it was a dreadful fever. If I had remained behind, I would've detected that she was using that magic. But I was far off and couldn't sense it from such a distance. I could've ended it far sooner. Yet you have suffered from it and it made me see how ill suited this place is for you. You were never destined to remain in this realm. You are not a creature of the shadows and you never will be. Be happy that is the case." A hiss came from within that darkened space in his hood. "Isilmë, I am releasing you and your family."

Your heart nearly ceased to beat in your chest. Those were words you thought you would never hear in your lifetime. The freedom you had originally sought all those months ago was being bequeathed to you. The Witch-king deemed it appropriate and he did it of his own free will. You were speechless and all you could do was stare back at him in astonishment.

"I cannot allow you to suffer and wither by my side," he said. "I said I will not let another wife die and I intend to hold to that vow. It is for your own sake and safety. I have decided that as soon as you are fit to travel, I will free you."

"But I cannot go!" you debated. "You must believe me when I say that I think this was fated! Yes, at first I resisted but as I learned more about you, the more I started to believe I was here for a purpose. I believe I am supposed to help you somehow and I still believe it. This previous incident won't scare me off and neither should you let it discourage you! This is all a risk I am willing to take!"

"You cannot do anything against the power of the Dark Lord. No one can. I am enslaved and I will never be freed. The only way I will be freed is if I die and the Ring is destroyed. Your whim is a fool's hope, Isilmë. Abandon it. I have made my mind up and I will not change it. Do not attempt to argue with me. This is for your own good."

You couldn't go. It didn't feel right to leave his side. You had grown partial to him and as time passed, you no longer minded being his wife. You couldn't bear the thought of leaving Minas Morgul and depriving him of someone to interact with and even touch. To you, he was making a tragic mistake and you wanted to try to correct him. You feared that leaving him would somehow make him fall deeper into darkness and you couldn't let that happen.

"What can I do?" you implored. "What can I do or say to make you see reason? I cannot leave you! We are also bonded with each other and I think this is most unwise! I no longer see you as the enemy. No, you are my husband and I will not leave you so easily."

"There is nothing you can do or say to make me think otherwise." He hissed loudly, sounding irked. "Do not be so dense and daft! You are chasing and entertaining some grand delusion! This is a matter of life and death and you seem to be blind to it. You are an intelligent and astute woman, are you not? Perhaps that hag has addled your mind so much and it's even more imperative that you leave."

Your jaw dropped, offended and infuriated by his insinuation. Your hands clenched into tight fists and you resisted the urge to grab him by his shoulders and yell into his face. You were more than aware of what you were speaking of and what you desired. 

"I am sound of mind!" you blurted. "I know full well of what the dangers are and what may lay before me! I have accepted my fate! And let me address you of my own free will, my king…" You glowered at him. "With my free will, I choose to stay here in Minas Morgul with you."

"I will not argue over this," he said. "It is set in stone and I will not alter it. You will depart as soon as possible with your brother and sister. You will be free and you will not compete against my decree any longer. I am finished with discussing this."

The Witch-king vacated his seat and began to walk away from you. You watched him leave your presence, his grim aura still radiating those strong emotions you felt earlier. You were tempted to pursue him and debate further but you also didn't want to risk having it get out of hand. Your temper was getting the better of you and you didn't want to make things worse. It pained and angered you to watch him leave your presence.

You remained seated. For the first time in over a thousand years, the forlorn fountain knew of water once more as you kept it company.


	11. To be Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the decision is announced, both of you make a few startling revelations.

Chapter 11 To be Human

(…)

The news was unbelievable but very much welcome to Angwen and Venarion. They rejoiced at this remarkable turn of events and were ecstatic at the prospect of their freedom. Although they had remained within Minas Morgul for less than a season, they were still all too glad to leave if they could. The fact that the Witch-king had willingly granted them their liberation was another astonishing thing to the young children of Men. If they were free to go and not languish within the desolate realm, they would happily seize the opportunity. They wouldn't even dream of throwing the coveted opportunity away so carelessly.

While they anticipated their eventual departure, you were torn and overcome. Not too long ago, you would've had the same amount of joy and enthusiasm as your brother and sister. You too would've been more than eager to grasp onto the sweet release that was being bestowed onto you. But this decree of dismissal was one of the last things you wanted to hear from him… You believed this was a poor choice and you thought that leaving would only make things worse.

You didn't pursue him and took a moment to try to collect your thoughts and emotions at the fountain. However, you could only linger there for so long before you felt the need to isolate yourself and confide in your siblings. You needed to hide away in your chambers and come to terms with what fate was bestowing you now.

"Isilmë," Venarion smiled brightly, "this is the best news we have gotten for the first time in a long time!" His happiness was as radiant and warm as the sun itself. While it should've made your heart soar, it seemed to only singe it. "We're going home! Luck and fortune has smiled upon us!"

The boy seemed oblivious to your turmoil and concerns. Preferrably, you wanted him to remain that way. You didn't want to trouble his fragile and young mind with any more grief and strife. All you wanted was for your youngest sibling to be happy and look forward to the future with optimism and joy. He deserved happiness.

But you knew all too well that Angwen easily detected your woes. While she was obviously enthralled with the news, she could see the sadness etched into your face. As she picked up on your negativity, it marred her glee and made her feel wary and even curious.

You couldn't leave. Now that you knew the things that you learned over the months, you couldn't depart with a clear conscious. Since you knew that your consort was suffering and chained to Sauron's malice and servitude, you couldn't leave his side. Somehow, you wanted to rediscover his lost life and regain his forsaken and true identity. You had no idea how to do it but you somehow wanted to free him from the Dark Lord and not kill him at the same time. There had to be another way and you were convinced of it. But how to go about it was something you had no clue with. All you knew was that you couldn't abandon the being you had grown attached to.

"I just hope everything is intact," Venarion rambled on. "We closed down the house and secured it… Hopefully no Orcs destroyed it while we were gone!" The boy laughed jovially and placed another log into the fireplace. He stared into the dancing, orange flames and contently settled on the hearth. He pulled his knees to his chest and smiled as he observed the crackling fire. "Finally, we have our freedom…"

"Isilmë…" Angwen started. Her tone sounded cautious which was almost uncharacteristic of her. "This kindness he is exhibiting is nothing we ever could've dreamed of. If he is giving this to us willingly, we must seize it. There's the possibility that he may change his mind as well."

You only shook your head at her.

"I'm sorry, I cannot be happy with this," you confessed. Your voice was low.

"You must be!" your sister asserted. "This is a dream come true! You no longer have to be incarcerated within this hellish place! You no longer have to remain wedded to a man you don't love! What else could you wish for?"

"Angwen…" You sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of your nose. "You know exactly why I can't simply leave. I want to help him. I want to try to free him."

"How? That makes no sense! No Man can do it! In fact, no one can! The only way you can free him is if you kill him." She was completely flabbergasted by your reluctance and your desire to remain at the Witch-king's side. It was completely beyond her understanding. "Sauron's power is terrible and evil. He has his grip on the Nazgûl and he will never let them go."

"That may be true but you must trust me that I can see remnants of his old identity… I don't know how and why but I do believe there is still something deep within him. It's locked away and hidden but I know it's there."

"Isilmë, that is much too dangerous to think."

"Angwen, I believe he is capable of something human. I felt the guilt that was dripping from him when I confronted him earlier. He is letting me go because he believes it's for my own good… The fact that he's willingly letting me go tells me everything! He is capable of human feelings and actions. That gives me hope and I cannot leave him alone. He is suffering and he needs someone to confide in and treat him kindly!"

"You owe him nothing! You must remember that he took you from our family against your will. He subjected you to all this mess and the least he can do is free you!"

"I have forgiven him. I have told him that as well." You set a hand on her shoulder. "Angwen, if it comes down to it, you and Venarion may leave but I will stay behind."

Venarion's head whipped around to face his sisters upon hearing those words. He left his seat upon the hearth and bounded over to their side.

"How can you say that?" he demanded. "We will not leave without you!"

"Have you succumbed to madness?!" Angwen nearly shrieked. "No! I will not be parted from you again! You can't be serious!"

"Please, calm down," you entreated your siblings. "Please, don't overreact…"

"You are going to leave this place and you are going to accompany us! There is no negotiating, there is no compromise! We are being given an opportunity and we're going to take it!"

"Isilmë," Venarion said, "we cannot stay here. We learned that lesson from Mariss. The Witch-king can't completely protect us. Even his 'loyal servant' turned on us."

It frustrated you immensely. More than anything, you wanted your brother and sister to be safe. Anymore, you believed that their continuous residing in Minas Morgul may prove to be more detrimental than beneficial. Venarion's argument was sound and you feared that another being like Mariss might inevitably show up again and cause more grief and suffering once again. You couldn't allow it to happen. You were more than ready to allow them to go free but your instincts also urged you to go with them wherever was required.

The absence of your mother brought about strong, maternal feelings in you regarding them. You did love them dearly and you would sacrifice yourself for them if need be. After all, they were the only family members you had left and you would do whatever you could in your power to keep them safe and happy. They could no longer stay within the realm of the Nazgûl and you knew it. No longer would you expose them to endangerment and peril. To force them to remain would be negligent, selfish and heartless.

If Angwen and Venarion weren't with you, you knew the choice would be far easier for you to make. A part of you wished that you hadn't requested to bring your family to join you. Guilt still gnawed at you and a part of you fretted that they were killed because of your wish to see them again. They would be in hiding but they would still be alive and wandering Middle Earth. They would be grieving to see you again but they wouldn't be resting beneath the grasp of a birch tree…

Again, your thoughts turned to the Witch-king…

Once deplored and scorned, now you found yourself anticipating his presence. The fear that controlled you had been torn down and from its ruin, understanding was built. You looked forward to a touch that you had initially suspected would be harsh and brutal but actually tender and careful. No longer did he appear to be a nameless and faceless monster to you. He could make you laugh and smile just as your beloved siblings did.

There was a being, a soul. Under that choking fog of darkness and corruption, there was someone. Nowadays, you looked upon him as "husband".

What you saw was real. What you felt was real. There was no denying it. No amount of protest or argument from your kin could tell you otherwise. Your heart knew the truth of the matter.

"Talk to me, answer me," Angwen entreated. "I don't like it when you remain silent and quiet like this. You're thinking much too intensely over this and my stomach is turning because of this."

It was real.

Finally, you faced her. Your expression was solemn and you calmly stared back at her.

Angwen's face softened and she let out a shuddered exhale. She set one of her hands over her mouth and only looked back at you, disbelieving. She hoped that she was seriously wrong.

"Oh, Isilmë…" The tone in Angwen's voice sounded anguished. "Please, don't tell me this has happened. Tell me I am wrong and jumping to conclusions far too quickly!"

You hung your head low and buried your face in your hands. Already, you knew what she was speaking of. You were certain of it. But you wouldn't argue with her or placate her concerns. It was pointless to hide it and this was past the point of no return.

"What?" Venarion wondered. "What are you talking about? Isilmë didn't even say anything!"

Your silence told Angwen everything.

(one day later)

Minas Morgul's throne room was mainly a decorative and symbolic area of sorts. Very rarely was it frequented and for the most part, it was forgotten about by most of the citadel's citizens. Anymore, the only visitors it received were miniscule spiders who strung up their webs and took residence in the chamber. The only time it was really utilized was when envoys or an expected party arrived to visit. They would be ushered to the chamber and seek audience with the lord of the realm.

No one was scheduled to visit on this day but the Witch-king found himself in his seat of prestige. He sat practically immobile and silent, his invisible gaze fixated on the heavy doors on the opposite side of the room.

Again, he was compelled to find refuge in an untraveled place and be alone with his thoughts. He stayed far away from you, unwilling or unable to even risk a chance of catching a glimpse of you, even from afar. Still, he felt you and he could feel the heartache and sorrow through the bond. It resonated within him and his feelings were the same as yours.

To say that he was torn, consumed and conflicted was an understatement. Some traces of anger lingered within him but more or less, his more morose feelings reigned supreme. It was a confounding whirlwind of sensations and he didn't know what to make of it. It was overwhelming.

He hated it.

" _If this is what it means to be human, I do not miss it or want it_."

The Witch-king made his decision and he wouldn't change it. No amount of persuasion would alter it and he was determined to see it through. There was no negotiating and he wouldn't tolerate any resistance either. You would depart Minas Morgul forever and that was final.

He utterly refused to take any more unnecessary risks or chances. His guilt still gripped him and he decided he would never make a serious mistake like that again. No more would he take a gamble and allow you to linger within his domain. Your continued tenure would only make things more complicated and delicate. He would exercise his authority and cast you out. It would be for your own good and safety.

Now he regretted meeting you that fall night on the country road. He wished he had chosen a different route on that evening while he sought the Ringbearer. He wished he hadn't experienced that flicker of light in his shadowed and cold world.

He found it so cruel and twisted that Sauron allowed him to remember his first wife's face and how you happened to look so much like her. The lord of the Nazgûl had been tricked and deceived by his master so long ago and now he felt as if it was happening all over again. He was convinced he was doomed to eternal suffering.

It hurt.

" _My will is absolute. I will not buckle. I will not cave in. I will not… I will no_ t…"

It was the only way. He wouldn't risk another catastrophe. The next time might possibly be your last and he wouldn't gamble with destiny. Taking matters into his own hands was his only option. In his eyes, there was no other option.

" _This is what you seek_."

The Witch-king bristled as he heard the Dark Lord's voice in his mind. He silenced his thoughts and remained quiet. At any moment, he expected Sauron to say more. He dreaded this interference but he wouldn't protest this invasion even in this midst of this tumult.

" _This is what you desire_ ," the right hand of Morgoth resumed. " _This is what it feels like to be alive again. I will allow you to languish and cry out in grief into the eternal night that is your existence. I want you to regret trying to remember and reminisce. Soon enough, you will come crawling to me and beg me to help relieve you of this turmoil. If you are smart, you will learn your lesson. I will let you humiliate yourself. I want you to suffer_."

As abruptly as Sauron barged in, he vanished once more. Now he was completely alone again. Ironically, now he didn't know if he was happy to be rid of his master's presence or to miss it. At least Sauron distracted him from his tortured musings and provided something of a temporary reprieve.

However, his train of thought was interrupted once more. The image of his long past first wife appeared in his mind. She was wearing blue and silver garments and she looked as beautiful and regal as he always remembered her. A small, sorrowful smile formed on his unseen and monstrous face. Subtly, his form relaxed in his throne and he allowed his head to tilt backwards slightly. A soft, almost inaudible hiss came from his hood.

He loved but hated it.

To remember her hurt him. It reminded him yet again that their union had been cut short. Happiness was to be theirs and their marriage had just begun only to have it end so heinously. All the promises they made to each other were broken. All they wanted was each other and the chance to grow old together. But it was never meant to be.

When he pondered over her, a single word came to him. It appeared from nowhere and he had no explanation for it. Then it began to be recited in his head over and over again.

" _Aredhel_."

His fingers dug into the stone armrests. Somehow, it seemed as if his heart was throbbing in his chest. It had long since stilled and fallen silent but now it miraculously seemed to be beating once more. It was an alien feeling and he was shocked he was even experiencing it.

As it persisted, it took a turn for the worst and began to hurt him terribly. His armored fingers grated against the stone, creating a loud, unsettling screech. His hooded head was thrown backwards and he let out a chilling scream. It was so explosive it almost felt as if the very foundations of Minas Morgul were shaking.

It was indeed a word but it was a special kind of word. It was a word that was gifted to a person. It was a word that was spoke of lovingly and longingly.

It was a name.

" _Aredhel_."

At that instant, he knew what to call her. He finally remembered her name. No longer was she a nameless specter of his past that he daydreamed over.

" _Aredhel, my love_."

He knew that if he remembered her name, it was only another, telling sign. The dreaded aching in his chest threatened to reveal more whether he liked it or not.

It was unfolding agonizingly before him and he was powerless to prevent it. He couldn't stop it and it was unraveling at its own accord. As much as he wanted to halt its progression, he couldn't. He was afraid of what else he would remember and experience. He feared what else he would feel…

He was heartbroken.

There was no denying it and he grudgingly recalled what it was like. It hurt him terribly and he could do nothing to ease the pain that gnawed at him.

" _Aredhel. Isilmë… Why must you do this to me_?"

His claims and assumptions were disproved. He was still human. At his very core, he was still a Man.

" _If to be human is to hurt… I do not want this_."

It was real.


	12. Two as One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Farewell" is far more impactful than "hello".

Chapter 12 Two as One

(two days later)

"It was a delight serving you, my lady." Berwûld bowed lowly to you. "It is a pity it has to come down to this but the will of the Witch-king won't be contested or challenged. You were pleasant company and I reckon I will miss you."

It was all a pity in your eyes.

You dreaded this day intensely and as much as you desired to rebel and postpone this, you went along with your consort's command. It hurt you but you would obey for the sake of your siblings. They wouldn't stay and truthfully, you didn't want to force them to remain in Minas Morgul. They never truly belonged there anyway. You refused to risk their livelihood anymore and you would go with them. You wouldn't let them go on their own and your place was with the remnants of your kin. Where they went, you would follow.

"And I thank you for all that you've done for me during my stay here," you said, giving your former servant a polite bow. "You've outdone yourself, Berwûld, and it was a delight to get to know you. I won't forget your kindness and service."

Berwûld was a pleasant surprise for you. Admittedly, your opinions of Orcs were rather poor and low when you still lived in the West. It didn't help that your grandfather engaged them in skirmishes from time to time and he told stories of their ferocity and savagery. But when you arrived at Minas Morgul, your perspective on the Orcs changed. Many of them were indeed aggressive and prone to outbursts of violence and bloodlust. After all, it was all they had ever known. They were created and molded to do so.

Yet there were exceptions to the majority. Berwûld was one of them and that's why you believed he was assigned to your care. His nature wasn't brash and he was rather polite and patient. He was more scholarly and calmer than many of his comrades. He assisted you with whatever you needed and he was always eager to serve and please. Truly, you were grateful that he was selected to wait on you.

During your tenure, there were others who were similar to his nature. There were some Orcs who were aloof and laidback and others who were puckish jokesters. Each of them were their own individual and none was exactly like the other. They were like any other race that walked across Middle Earth.

"Aye, I will admit it," Berwûld confided. "I am not fond of Men but I will say that you are an exception, my lady. I feel lucky that the Witch-king chose you and commanded me to serve you. If it was anyone else, I fear it would've not been agreeable." He smiled toothily, displaying his unflattering jaws. "If you ever find yourself in Minas Morgul once more, I will be more than happy to welcome and serve you again."

You nodded your head at the Orc.

"Again, thank you so much, Berwûld," you said. "But I fear I won't be coming back anytime soon. The lord of the Nazgûl is adamant that I depart and not return."

There was a flash of understanding in his remaining, sallow eye. He found out the truth about Mariss in the aftermath of the incident. To him, it made sense why the Witch-king wanted you to leave.

"It is for your own good from what I have heard," he said. "But I will not pry into such matters, it is not my business. Neither will I keep you any longer. You must go." He bowed his head to you again. "Good luck and have a safe journey, my lady."

"Thank you, your good thoughts are very much welcome and appreciated," you gave him a small smile. "And I wish you luck with your future as well."

You turned and at last exited the chambers you had known and frequented for well over a year. It felt strange knowing you would never sleep and dwell within these quarters again. They were chilly and stony but it was indeed a sanctuary and you learned to not mind it as time went on. However, you wouldn't miss them per say and they were not your true home.

Angwen and Venarion were already in the courtyard with their horses. They had long since packed up their belongings and valuables and loaded them onto their mounts. They didn't bid farewell to anyone and were more than happy to be on their way and go West. The two were situated just behind the gates of the city and were waiting for you in the meantime. They wouldn't leave without you.

You could feel that your husband was waiting there with them. Ever since he first announced to you that you were to leave, you hadn't seen him. The Witch-king gave you a wide berth and steered clear. You hadn't even caught the slightest glimpse of him. Despite that, you could continuously feel him and you knew he was still within the green-lit walls.

You felt angered and betrayed that he would do this but you wouldn't argue with him further over the matter. As much as you wanted to confront him, you decided to set it all aside. You didn't want your last encounter with him to be something you would regret forever. You wanted to at least leave on somewhat good terms. You didn't want any negative feelings festering in you lest it would consume you and make things all the more difficult to deal with.

Your place was with your family. As much as it hurt you to leave his side, you wouldn't forsake your brother and sister. They were still young and needed direction and guidance. They still needed someone to take care of them and you wouldn't abandon them. You made your choice and there was no way you would back out of it.

Through the corridors and down the stairways you roamed, taking a moment to remember it all. Never again would you reside within these darkened halls and the only evidence you dwelled there would be the memories tucked away within your mind. Nothing was particularly joyful or cheery about them but everything reminded you of him and it pained you that much more. Your pace increased and you hurried along to where your siblings lingered.

At last, you made it to the courtyard. It was largely cleared save for the three horses that would bear you and your family, your siblings and the Witch-king. As you approached them, you could see that his gaze was trained on you. You wanted to ignore it but you forced yourself to look back at the Wraith lord.

"You are all prepared, Isilmë?" Venarion asked. His horse nickered quietly beneath him and he rubbed the beast's neck soothingly.

"Yes," you replied.

You made it to your horse. The Witch-king was holding onto the reins, keeping the steed in place and under his control until you arrived.

"I have given you all weapons to protect yourselves in your journey," he said. "I hope you will have no need for them but it is better to be safe than sorry. They are packed away within your belongings. I've also stocked you up on provisions as well so you do not have to worry about food and drink for some time."

"Thank you," you answered. "It will make the long ride home that much easier for us."

He handed you the reins. You took them, doing your best to not graze your fingers against his gauntlets.

"The hospitality of the Nazgûl is something I thought I'd never experience," Angwen commented. "I expected something fouler but was granted something fairer." She gave him a grateful nod. "You have my respect, sir. We all thank you for your selflessness. I did not think you were capable of such a thing."

Inwardly, you cringed at her words and you wanted to shoot a searing leer at her. Yet luckily, you could sense no anger coming from his shrouded shape. You let out a sigh of relief at this.

"You are welcome," he said a few seconds later. "Is everyone properly prepared?"

"Yes," Venarion nodded. He shifted about anxiously in his saddle.

"Open the gates!"

Moments after he issued his command, the ponderous doors of Minas Morgul began to open. They creaked as they did so and you mounted your horse while they parted more and more.

Your conscious nagged at you obnoxiously. For as long as you were right by his side, you wanted to reason with him. You wanted him to obtain some clarity and talk him out of this choice. You were afraid of what would happen to him in the aftermath of your departure. This unreasonable side of you wanted to stay behind but you managed to suppress it. There was no turning back.

Soon enough, the doors were wide open, presenting you and your kin the road before you. Liberation was dangling before you and your home called for you. The apple trees and flowerbeds beckoned you. The lullabies of crickets would soon enough soothe and entice you. So much good and all that you loved and cherished from your old life was ready to be reclaimed once more…

"Ride hard and fast," the Witch-king urged. "These horses are worthy and enduring and they will take you where you lead them without fail. They have been trained to not scare easily so no peril is too great for them."

"We shall," you responded. "Home is ever on our minds so we will do as you say."

"Then you may take your leave. I will see you out of the gates."

He walked up to the parted gates and stood just outside them. Gently, you urged your horse forward and commanded it to go at a leisurely pace. You didn't want to race past him so indignantly. You could sense the urgency your brother and sister radiated but you shot them a stern look, silently telling them to be patient for a little longer.

"I bid you all a farewell," the lord of Minas Morgul announced. "Travel well. May safety keep you and may swiftness guide you."

Angwen and Venarion's farewells were murmured but they were audible enough. However, they didn't linger much longer and they drove their horses forward. They were eager to begin the long and tiresome journey home.

It hurt to even look back at him. Your heart ached. But you knew you had to follow them. You couldn't linger behind for too long. The road ahead was indeed arduous and lengthy.

"Farewell," you whispered.

He didn't say anything else to you. You took that as a sign to go and you pressed your horse to trot after your siblings to catch up to them.

However, you were not so ready to part just yet. You felt as if you couldn't leave at that exact moment. There was more that you wanted to say. To leave right then and there would've left you feeling empty and hollow. Words were working themselves up from your heart and were now perched upon your tongue, desiring to be heard before the final farewell. How you wished you found such nerve and bravery to do so earlier.

"Angwen, Venarion," you instructed your siblings. At last, you caught up with them. "Remain upon your mounts, I am not ready to leave just yet. I must have a few words with him."

In their eyes, you could see that they were ready. In fact, they were more than ready and were anxious to finally leave Minas Morgul. They desired it more than anything. You felt cruel for denying them their immediate escape but you were determined to make it a reality soon enough. You only had to speak with your consort one last time.

Venarion merely nodded at your words. Angwen looked as if she wanted to argue but she bit back any protests she had. She nodded as well, allowing you to go back to him.

"Go, Isilmë," she encouraged, "but please, we must be off soon. He even said we had to make haste."

"This will not take long," you promised them.

You didn't waste another moment. You turned your horse around and had it gallop back over to his shrouded, shadowy shape where he quietly watched you. Thankfully, he hadn't turned to reenter the city and the gates were still open. There were no other witnesses about and he was the only other soul besides you and your family members that stood outside the gates of the ghastly citadel.

The reroute consisted of only a few hundred feet so it didn't take long at all to make it to his side once more. You dismounted your horse and walked the remaining twenty feet over to him. He stood unmoving and he was entirely focused on you.

"Is there something you have forgotten?" he asked.

"No," you replied. You at last halted when you were mere inches away from him. "I only wanted to speak with you before I left."

His invisible gaze didn't reveal much but you got the distinct feeling that he was puzzled and intrigued. He even slightly tilted his hooded helm to the side, further belying his curiosity. The Witch-king remained silent, allowing you to go on. He wouldn't interrupt you.

"I only wanted to thank you," you said. There was honesty and gratitude in your voice. Now you found yourself frustrated. You had so much to say that you didn't know where to begin. You hesitated for a few moments before you resumed once again. "You have done much for me. You have also changed me and made me question so many things. I have seen things through your eyes and that is a perspective I never dreamed I would experience in all my days. I am enlightened but also so horribly saddened…"

Your heart still pained you terribly. It hurt to even talk to him.

Despite the unpleasant beginning of your relationship with him, it had changed into something else. You no longer loathed his presence. You found yourself soothed by the feeling of his hand on your shoulder. He didn't repulse you. He made you feel safe and you enjoyed his company.

No longer did you view him as a horrible abomination. You saw him as a man who had been cheated and molded into something against his will. He had yearned to break free but he knew he wouldn't ever achieve that glorious and sweet liberation. Glimpses of who he was once was would shimmer through that dark and choking veil and you wanted to see even more of who he once was. You yearned to heal and help him in whatever way you could. The thought of leaving him behind made you sick and you feared that leaving him would cause him to degrade.

"Do not feel pity for me," he said. "All is my fault and none other's. I made my choice, chose my path and now I must traverse it until the end."

"If only I could turn you from that path," you lamented. "If only I could somehow steer you from such a dreadful course for I would do it. You deserve to be freed. You deserve a reprieve from that monstrous being you serve."

"Isilmë, there is nothing you can do. I am condemned and there can be no release from Sauron. It is absolute. You mustn't worry over me for I am long gone. I cannot be saved."

It was maddening. How you wished that you could throttle the Dark Lord himself for what he had done to him. It infuriated you and it felt as if your heart was hotter than the fires of Mount Doom itself. It was torturing you and you felt powerless and disgusted that nothing had worked. Nothing would ever be enough.

"Do not pity me," the Witch-king said. "I do not need it nor do I deserve it. You are too kind and naïve, my dear."

"I am not!" you debated. "You deserve it. It is hurting me to go…"

"You must. If you stay here, you are only putting yourself in danger and I cannot allow that anymore. I left you behind in what I assumed were capable and trusting hands. That nearly killed you and I will not subject you to that again. Leaving Minas Morgul is the best thing for you. I cannot make it any clearer."

"I have become partial to you and I'm only realizing it before we are being parted."

He steadily raised his hands and you thought you could see them trembling ever so subtly. They then rested on your shoulders and he drew you closer. His hood closed in on your face and you could feel the cold flesh of his forehead press against yours.

"Don't say such things," he implored. He emitted a soft hiss. "You have no idea what you're speaking of."

"I do," you said sternly. "I want you to know that someone does care for you. There is someone who still has faith in you. It is I and that will not change. I only want the best for you and I want you to be free. I used to hate it when I first came here. I used to be repelled by you. But no more… I do think we were meant to be entwined in one way or another. Our paths were destined to merge."

"Isilmë, I want you to forget everything. I want you to not have a heavy conscious. And I never want you to look back and wish that you were still here. I should have not taken you from your family. Perhaps if I hadn't you'd all still be alive and together."

"No one knows what could have happened. It could have been that way or we all could have died together. It will always remain uncertain. I have forgiven you for that."

"Death is your ultimate fate if you stay here. I fear it will be premature as well. This realm was never meant for you. I was selfish and I sought to fulfill that which I had lost. But I will remedy that and send you off. This is the only way. If you absolutely refuse to forget me, keep the ring I gifted you. You still deserve it, my dear. Please…go."

It felt as if your heart was shattering into innumerable shards. It was unfair to experience it once again so quickly. The death of your family was still so fresh and now this was another blow to you. One wretched thing after another kept happening and it was maddening.

Something about his words resounded in you. The fact that he was willing to let you go and that he wished for you to do so stood out. This was unlike what you would suspect a servant of the shadows to act. It was just another thing that had surprised you and appeared out of the blue. The surfeit of emotions you were embroiled in didn't help it either.

This was not a soulless wretch. This was a weary and saddened man.

This was virtue. This was a remnant of an older life. He was remembering…

And you saw that you did love him.

"Forgive me," you said. You could feel tears breaching your eyelids. "I must do this."

For the first time, you were the one who initiated a kiss. Your hands reached up to his unseen face, tracing your fingers over his features. He didn't react negatively and instead he seemed to melt into your affection, giving you more motivation to continue.

You continued with the kiss and you could feel out his jaw line. As you felt him further, you could feel that his features were…unnatural. It was almost contorted and unearthly. That revealed to you that he was most likely deformed if you were to look upon his true form with your own eyes. But no revulsion or fear reigned in you as you explored his twisted visage. You had seen trolls in Minas Morgul that were far uglier.

His hands moved from your shoulders and they slowly coursed down your frame. They roamed up and down your sides, admiring your shape briefly before they rested on your hips. He followed the motion of your hands as you massaged and felt his face. The sensation soothed him and he desired to enjoy this peace and intimacy for as long as he could. His lips still remained upon yours.

" _I love you_."

He didn't utter those words out loud. Instead, his voice resonated inside your head.

" _And I you_."

You answered him with those words, letting him know this was no evil farce. Neither of you could deny what laid within your hearts. It was too obvious to be mistaken.

You allowed this tenderness to linger for another minute before you grudgingly broke it. You wouldn't allow Angwen and Venarion to wait any longer than they already had. As much as it pained you, you knew that you had to go. They couldn't be within Minas Morgul anymore either. It was for your own good and for theirs as well.

"Be happy and free, Isilmë," he encouraged. "That is all that I ask of you."

"I wish I knew your true name," you said. "I would use it… But I will call you my husband. Farewell."

"Farewell."

He couldn't say anything else. Neither could you. The ache was too much for you to bear.

You grasped one of his hands as you started to back away from him. As you pulled farther away, your hold on him lessened. It ached to let go of him but you did so.

Unable to tolerate this tumult anymore, you faced away from him and ran back to your horse and your family members. You wiped away the streaking tears and struggled to hold the forming ones back. You had to place as much distance between yourself and the Witch-king as you could. You had to distance yourself. You couldn't languish any longer or you feared it would hurt even more than it already did.

Quickly, you mounted your horse and steered it ahead. You hid your face from Angwen and Venarion as you came closer to them. You goaded your mount on, encouraging it to go forth with as much speed as it could muster. The horses that bore your siblings caught up with yours and the beasts hurried as much as they could. They raced over the bridge and through the path that cut through the Morgul Vale.

You never looked back. You didn't dare to do so for you felt his eyes on you for the entire time. The Witch-king's stare never wavered until you were out of sight.

The bond still persisted. You felt his heart and he felt yours.


	13. Of Lost and Lonely Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are different ways to deal with heartache.

Chapter 13 Of Lost and Lonely Souls

(…)

He would take the relief and be grateful for it. The sharp ache in his shoulder had waned considerably for the past few days and he hoped it would remain that way. Whenever the pain flared up, at times it was nearly debilitating and it usually only bothered him under a particular set of circumstances. For as long as it no longer tormented him, he would be better off. He would at least have that in his favor.

For now, the creature saw he would need to lay low and find a new place to lurk and hide. He was certain he was about to be caught a few times earlier but he managed to slip past his pursuers. Apparently, luck was still on his side. He only hoped it would remain with him and wouldn't abandon him to a terrible fate.

It was obvious to him that his undead enemies were still looking for him. They would never stop hunting him and he knew it all too well. They hardly needed rest, were relentless and they were entities of pure and malicious intent. He knew what they were like all too well and he feared that his next encounter with the Men of the shadows might very well be his last. That was something he didn't want to chance at all.

His head peaked out around from the side of a large, volcanic boulder. Once he saw that his area was clear and empty, the being kept low and hustled along. Capture would mean his imminent doom. As far as he was concerned, he didn't desire to suffer such a gruesome and unhappy fate. He didn't want to end up like Gollum…

The haggard, feral-looking Hobbit pinned himself against another rock once he made it to the other side of the ravine. His blue eyes flitted about nervously, perpetually on the lookout for anything that would pose a threat to him. His right hand remained firmly clenched and closed, not daring to lose his sole but precious possession. It was all he had.

Feeling that he was safe for the time being, Frodo let out a sigh of relief. He wedged himself through a crawl space beneath the rock, desiring a sense of greater security. The niche was dark and enclosed and he felt comforted by this sensation. He curled up into a fetal position and allowed his hand to loosen around its invaluable and evil cargo.

Delicately, Frodo stroked the seemingly simple and harmless golden band that he bore. It soothed him and while he treasured it, he also hated it. The Ring still had him hostage a year later. It broke his will and poisoned his mind and it showed no signs of releasing him anytime soon.

It whispered to him in Black Speech and the fallen Ringebearer took comfort in it. He shut his eyes and continued to stroke the evil relic. It was his sole comfort in the land of ash and darkness.

While he cherished his dearest possession, Frodo also missed his old life. He missed his friends and his kin. Their faces seemed blurred and unclear and whenever he tried to remember their voices, they were distorted. Everything that he once knew was steadily being altered and erased. His grip on reality was slipping and whenever he tried to sleep, he was plagued by horrific nightmares. Great, fearsome eyes wreathed in blistering flame and pale, wispy, deformed apparitions that once were Men haunted his dreams. He found no relief whether he was awake or asleep.

Frodo hardly ate anymore and his frame was terribly emaciated and shrunken. When he did find food, it was mainly scavenged from Orc camps and settlements. They were mostly scraps not even those beings would touch but he would take what he could find and consume it. He couldn't afford to be choosy in a place like Mordor.

He moved from place to place in Mordor, laying low and keeping as hidden as possible. There were a few close calls he had with Gollum but he managed to avoid the slinky creature. When he stumbled across his remains some days back, he was relieved his former guide would no longer torment and stalk him. Frodo felt a sliver of pity for him but that was all it was. He wasn't sure what had happened to the corrupted Hobbit but he had a hunch that the Nazgûl came across Gollum and disposed of him.

Since he discovered his mutilated corpse, Frodo was all the more cautious and wary as he sought sanctuary. He didn't stay in one place for too long, preferring to be on the move to make things more difficult in tracking for his foes. If he could avoid them for as long as he could, he'd go to whatever length. If he was to be captured, his life would end.

Frodo knew that the Ring indeed wished to be reunited with its true owner. But the Ring also remained behind with him to torture and punish. It wanted to warp and ruin him before it would ultimately return to the Dark Lord. However, Frodo wouldn't let it go so easily. He would fight to keep it and he would hold onto it for as long as he humanly could. It was too precious and valuable to him. He couldn't imagine his life without it.

His eyes started to grow heavy for as long as he doted over his treasure. Frodo could feel the seemingly soothing tug of sleep and he was all too tempted to give in to it. It still spoke to him and the words it uttered were something akin to a lullaby to him. It made him feel at ease and he felt safe and hidden.

He knew all too well his dreams would be filled with frightful delusions and hideous images but he cared not. The pull was too powerful and he needed to rest. He needed it more than he originally perceived. He had to try to get at least a few, solid, hours of deep sleep. It would be good for him and he couldn't afford to be tired and exhausted while on the run.

Frodo shut his eyes and surrendered to the allure of sleep. The last thing he heard was the voice of the Ring, still speaking and whispering false promises to him.

(…)

"I trust you to look after Minas Morgul in my absence. Eventually I or one of my brethren will return and relieve you of your responsibility. It will not last for long. I deem that you are qualified enough. Even before your latest assignment, I had always trusted you more so than the other creatures that live in this place. Your record is assuring and I know you will not disappoint me, Berwûld."

The Orc bowed deeply to his lord and master. He was humbled and honored to be given the temporary stewardship of the realm. Honestly, he hadn't predicted the duty to be granted to him. He expected the responsibility to be entrusted to one of the warrior captains. Although Berwûld was caught off guard by the Witch-king's assigning, he wouldn't decline it. He didn't dream to disappoint or argue with him.

Originally, Berwûld served the Witch-king for many, many years. The Orc had been by his side since the Nazgûl besieged and captured Minas Ithil over a thousand years earlier. Berwûld strove to be a hard worker and faithful servant from the beginning. He respected and feared the lord of the Nazgûl at the same time. There was no desire in his heart to tarnish his trust and cause the Witch-king to frown on him. He didn't dare to do it. He knew of his distaste and impatience for his kind and Berwûld sought to remain in his good graces and prove he wasn't like his compatriots.

"I will not fail you, my lord," he vowed. "I am delighted and honored to be chosen."

"You may not be a soldier per say but you possess traits that I find to be more suited to this position in comparison to the commanders stationed here," the Witch-king further explained. "You also served the queen well and I shall reward that loyal servitude. She never had anything unsavory to say about you."

"Aye and it was a treat to serve her, my lord."

"Are there any other queries you may have about this duty?"

"Nay, sire. I believe I understand what is before me."

"Good. Then I shall take my leave."

Berwûld gave him another bow. Then the Orc servant nodded and walked away.

Pleased that he had no questions and seemed to understand what laid before him, the Witch-king mounted his fell beast. He seated himself in the saddle and grabbed hold of the reins. He spoke lowly in Black Speech to the creature and it spread its great, leathery wings out. Then it beat them and jumped upwards, launching itself and achieving flight.

He steered the winged terror eastwards. The fell beast obeyed and made its way to the land of shadow and fire.

Indeed, he was keeping the promise he made to Sauron earlier. He would return to Mordor and resume his search for the Ring as soon as things were settled in Minas Morgul. There would be no delaying the Dark Lord. Even though you were gone, he still didn't want to test his master's patience. He still feared his power and he didn't doubt that damage could be dealt even from afar. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility and he knew it all too well.

His heart was still heavy. The feelings were all too powerful and persistent and he knew that normally, Sauron would've subdued them. In his disgust, he would've suppressed them. Yet, he also knew his master was allowing this to go unabated. The Witch-king didn't forget that his lord wanted him to suffer. He wanted him to hurt and recollect the pains and woes of heartache. He wanted him to pay for remembering what it was like to be human once again. Sauron yearned for him to regret every single moment of it. To the Witch-king, it was almost as if Sauron was obsessed with making his minions suffer.

What only made the whole matter even worse was when he saw that you loved him. When he felt and saw it, he wanted to go back on his word. He wanted to have you and keep you at his side and never let go. He longed to relish it and bask in the glory and warmth of it. He wished to experience true happiness and have a chance at a life where he had failed with Aredhel. He yearned to experience mutual desires. He needed to hold you, kiss you, love you… He craved to make you his in a deeper and more intimate way. Now that he discovered that you loved him, he wanted you more intensely than ever before.

Even something as simple as sitting next to you was a pleasant daydream. To have you sit next to him and not squirm in discomfort or have fear in your heart was bliss. To feel and to know that someone cared about him and didn't see him as a complete monster gave him a sense of relief he had no idea he needed until that point. The knowledge that you loved him despite his circumstances and that you wanted to stay behind made him feel strangely empowered.

But he also loved you too much. He loved you too much to force you to remain tethered to his existence. He refused to let you remain in constant danger. No longer would he risk it. His selfishness and pride would have to be cast aside and he sacrificed the little happiness he had. Because he loved you, he set you free. It was the best thing he could do for you.

The bond still remained as well. Even now, he could still feel you. It bothered him that you too were still grieving. Your burden was his. Love that had blossomed and was meant to be shared would be wasted and rot. It left an unsavory and bitter taste in his mouth and he was filled with contempt and disappointment. But neither would he regret letting you go off…

" _I did this for you, my dear. I did this because I care. I did this because I love you_."

A heavy scowl slowly formed on his invisible face. His upper lip twitched as his anger built up, mixing in with the concoction of other sensations. His gauntlets clenched around the reins harshly and the fell beast let out a noticeable whimper as it easily picked up on his mounting rage.

" _This is my destiny. He will allow me to recall more from my past life and let my sorrows torment me. He intends to shame me and mock me. He wants to use me as an example and warning to the other Nazgûl. After all this time and these years, he still wants me to suffer. How far will he allow this to continue? How long will he allow me to resurface and remember before he tears me down and immerses me in his influence? What if he lets me regain everything but he still controls and commands me?_ "

A snarl came from his hood. It all infuriated him and his hatred of Sauron burned brightly once more. How he longed to be free and never have to endure his yoke again. Nowadays, the Gift of Men was truly a blessing in his eyes. He only wished he had the wisdom to realize such a thing far earlier.

If he could go back in time and warn his past self about accepting a token of goodwill from a being called Annatar, he would do it in an instant. He would tell him to order him to leave his sight and not believe a single, honeyed word that came out of this visitor's mouth. The power, wealth and glory that the ring would bring wouldn't be worth it. The eternal servitude and condemnation to an undead existence was far worse than anything he ever dreamed of. In fact, he would possibly encourage his younger, more naïve self to kill him if he could so that no one else could suffer under this disguised demon. It was never worth it and it would never be worth it.

" _He said I was the last to fall because I was the one who resisted the longest… And I do recall I hailed from Númenor but who I was exactly, I don't have the faintest idea. Perhaps I still have that old strength slumbering away within me. If he allows me to remember more and rediscover myself, could I somehow rid myself of him_?"

He shook his head. As much as he desired to think it was a likely goal, he knew it wasn't the case. He was thinking too arrogantly and too positively. There was simply no possible way that he could ever be freed from Sauron. It was set in stone and his life force was bound to his master's.

Suddenly, he realized he wasn't alone when he could hear the roar of another fell beast. He looked over his shoulder, seeing that one of his brothers in arms was closing in on him. He sensed it was Khamûl.

The Witch-king slowed his mount down, allowing the fellow Wraith to catch up and fly alongside him. He suspected that the other Nazgûl might've had something to report.

"You have rejoined us, my lord," the Black Easterling noted. "Sauron said that a traitor in your walls was endangering your wife. He hadn't explained anything further to us. May you enlighten me on the matter?"

Almost instantly, he was tempted to dismiss Khamûl and tell him to get back to hunting the Ring. But some strange part of him desired to speak of the matter. He suspected his resurging emotions were to blame. It was embarrassing to say the least and he wouldn't indulge in this urge. There was no way he would lead Khamûl on to think he was hopelessly conflicted over the delicate matter.

"Yes and the traitor is no more," the Witch-king confirmed.

"And your queen is safe and sound?"

"I have released her and barred her from coming back to Minas Morgul. She is to never return."

Khamûl wasn't expecting that answer at all. From what he had seen with his own eyes and heard, he believed the Witch-king was partial to the woman he claimed as his bride. To hear that you had been cast out was something he didn't anticipate.

When it was first discovered that the Witch-king became intensely interested in a seemingly random woman, the other Nazgûl were perplexed. They were certainly confused as to why their captain had developed this sudden infatuation but they decided to turn a blind eye to it. His business was his own and none of them wanted to be brutally reprimanded for wanting answers.

When he brought this woman to Minas Morgul, they assumed that the Witch-king was experiencing a puzzlingly odd resurgence of sorts. They thought he was having some unusual and powerful urges to relive the pleasures of the flesh that he had long been denied. The fallen kings thought it was extremely bizarre but they decided to ignore it. Again, they turned a blind eye and paid you no mind. They predicted you would be unceremoniously discarded eventually once he had grown bored of your presence and his strange needs were satisfied.

But they were proven wrong when they found out about his desire to marry you and make you his wife. The Nazgûl were further confused and shocked when their master approved of the union and sent the Lieutenant of Barad-dûr to officiate and bind the Witch-king and his chosen bride. At that point, it was obvious to them that their leader had placed some especial value on your head. They knew the Witch-king wouldn't do something like this so arbitrarily. What he saw in you, they had no idea but they would remain quiet and give you a wide and respectful berth. If he had chosen you, they wouldn't argue or challenge him.

A year had come and gone since the bond had been solidified and the Wraiths were certain something else had to be afoot. They were clueless as to what was going on but they were definitely curious. The fact that the Witch-king had a wife gnawed at some of them. The presence of a woman and the whole situation made them hearken back to old and foggy memories of their own wives and lovers from their past lives. Secretly, some of them began to feel jealous. They desired brides of their own. Their humanities started to seep up to the surface.

Khamûl recalled that one of the other Nazgûl was certainly guilty of such a thing. He was one of the Nine who accompanied the Witch-king to the westerly domains of lesser Men. That Wraith juggled between rallying Orcs and then lurking under the cover of darkness outside of isolated residences. This individual would survey the dwellers from a distance and see if there were any women who would pique his interest. He never approached anyone but it was possible he would be discovered sooner rather than later as unfriendly encounters between the forces of Orcs and Men grew more frequent.

Khamûl himself had to put an end to that newfound hobby. He urged the lesser Nazgûl to cease the activity and get back to work. He warned him that the Witch-king or even Sauron would punish him for his frivolous desire. The perpetrator denied doing such a thing but Khamûl wouldn't have any of it. He ended up having to survey him for the rest of the time in the West to make sure he wouldn't do anything foolish like that again.

Since your arrival, things were interesting to say the least. Their dark brotherhood was shaken and their resurgences became more frequent and more powerful. But they would ignore everything the best they could and press onwards. They needed to or else they would face the wrath of their master in Mordor.

"Why?" he pressed. "My king, I didn't ever foresee that."

"It's nothing of your concern, Khamûl!" the Witch-king snapped. "It is my business and no one else's! She has been banished and she is to never see me again. Her brother and sister have joined her in her exile as well. That is all you need to know."

Khamûl could easily sense that he was upset. It couldn't be ignored and it was as plain as day. However, he didn't want to goad the Witch-king and have his ire directed to him. There was a reason why he was the leader of the Nine and held that position since the beginning. Not only that, Khamûl was comfortable with his position as being the second in command to him.

When the Nine were finally convened and became complete thousands of years earlier, Sauron forced all of them to fight one another. They were to duel their comrades to see who the strongest was amongst them. Naturally, they obeyed his declaration and they fought their brothers for the leadership of their order. In the end, it was Khamûl and the Wraith who would be known as the Witch-king in the far future. The Black Easterling and the fallen Númenorean lord warred with one another and the skirmish was brutal and merciless. But in the end, a victor emerged and Khamûl found himself the loser.

Khamûl's pride was wounded after that duel and he hated his rival for a few centuries. However, after some time, he grew to respect him. No longer did his defeat seem so bitter and shameful. He came to terms with his position and it didn't irk him anymore. He became content with being the second most powerful of the Nazgûl.

"My apologies, my lord," Khamûl said. "I will not speak of it anymore if that is what you wish."

"Have you made any progress in hunting down Baggins?" the Witch-king asked.

"Nay, sire."

An irritated snarl came from his darkened hood. The Witch-king had been hoping he would receive a positive update about the hunt for the Ring. All he was receiving was failure and disappointment and it was grating against his nerves.

"Sir, maybe we should have kept Gollum alive after all," Khamûl said. "Perhaps we could've used him as an agent of ours and had him track the Halfling down."

"Silence!" the Wraith lord bellowed. "Gollum was an insect that needed to be disposed of! He would be more of a hindrance than a help! I do not regret crushing that cretin's skull under my foot!" He hissed but tried to calm himself down and approach this with more tact and grace. He remained quiet for a few moments before speaking again. "Regardless of what news you may have for me, the fact remains that we must keep looking for the Ring. Baggins is in Mordor still, I can sense it. I swear I almost caught his scent before I had to leave. Split all of the Nazgûl up so that we may cover more ground. Hunting for the Halfling even in a small group covers less of an area and we need to be more thorough in our efforts."

"Very well, my lord. Have you any other decree?"

"No. Go forth, Khamûl. We all must do our part in the search."

Khamûl gave him a nod. Then he steered his fell beast away from the Witch-king's side. He flew eastwards to relay the message to his companions.

The Witch-king felt relieved he was alone once more. The last thing he wanted to do was speak to any of his brethren especially while he was feeling so unstable. He knew that Khamûl could sense the discord sweltering inside him but he ignored it. He wouldn't let it consume him. Right now, it was the least of his concerns.

He tried to clear his mind. A slow, steady hiss came from his dark mantle, sounding much like a heavy sigh. For now, he would have to put aside his heartache and woes. He would have to work and remain busy to appease his master. He needed to find the Ringbearer.

" _Baggins, I am coming for you, make no mistake of that_ ," he thought. " _For your sake, I hope you give me that Ring without a fight_."

(…)

The rain was heavy and blinding. The clouds looked almost as if they were blackened. Lightning danced across the sky, heralding the booming of the thunder moments later as it rolled threateningly overhead. Visibility was rather poor and as dusk closed in, it made things all the more difficult to travel in. It was also becoming chilly as time passed by more and more.

The horses had a possibility of slipping and being fatally injured while travelling through the rain so you decided to stop until the weather cleared. As much as you wanted to keep pressing westward, you knew stopping was the best course of action. There was no way you would endanger your horses just because you wanted to get as far away from Minas Morgul as possible. For now, you would have to be patient. You had been on the road for some hours anyway so everyone required a small reprieve.

You managed to find a patch of pines so those thick, insulating, concealing branches provided some shelter from the deluge. The air was so humid and the earth was so sodden that a fire was out of the question for the time being. For now, you would huddle under a blanket and stick close to your siblings to provide each other with heat and comfort. You only hoped the storm would pass so you could get a fire going at some point. The last thing you wanted was for someone to catch a chill during your flight.

You, Angwen and Venarion huddled together under the canopy of needles. For awhile, all three of you remained quiet. All you could hear was the pouring rain and the rumbling of the thunder. Even the horses remained silent as they rested and grazed nearby.

Yet the silence was comforting to a degree and even this storm didn't disturb you particularly. It reminded you of home and it soothed your nerves somewhat. The smell of rain was something you missed terribly.

"We're going home…" Venarion finally spoke up. "But how do we resume our old lives? How can we go back and act as if nothing ever happened?"

You didn't know how to reply to his questions. To you, there was no way things could ever resume normally as if they were frozen in time and waiting to be thawed. It was you and them. Your other family members were gone and you were separated from the one you loved.

"We'll have to make do with what we are given," you said. "I do not mean to sound grim but things will never be normal again. However, don't let that frighten you. We must adapt."

"No, you're right," Angwen added. "The War is still going on too." She sighed. You could've sworn you could see a trace of fear in her eyes briefly. "If Gondor and Rohan fail, Sauron will push into our homeland far more easily. We may end up within the company of our enemies again."

"That is not important for now." You wanted to diffuse this and not have worry and terror growing in their hearts. "What matters is getting home. We must do this all one step at a time. We need to get as far away from Minas Morgul as we can. That must be done."

"Should we stop at Minas Tirith?" Venarion wondered.

"No, I think we need to bypass the city and go straight home. I don't want to risk anything unnecessary." You sighed and rested your forehead against one of your palms. "I want to go home and…" You shook your head. "Visit the grave."

Angwen and Venarion were silent when you mention your family's tomb. They were there when they were buried. You knew this duty needed to be done but you dreaded it at the same time. You feared that going there would make your heart that much heavier.

"The spells are still there…" Venarion said. "But I think we are an exception. We're their family. We know where it is so we'll show you, Isilmë. If you are still bonded to the Witch-king, then we should have no problem."

The bond was something you were growing to hate now. It was still there. He could still feel you and you could feel him. Some selfish part of you hoped that it would somehow be destroyed so you would no longer have to suffer it. If you were to remain separated from him, you wanted nothing more to do with that binding. Otherwise, it would be too painful for you to bear.

Somehow, you hoped you could figure out or train yourself to overcome it and destroy it. You hoped that perhaps distance would weaken it but you remembered he was far from you before and it never waned. It was still powerful and you could sense him and his feelings from afar. If you were to sever this connection, someone as powerful as the Witch-king or someone stronger would need to do it. Otherwise, your heart would feel like an open wound that would never close…

"I suppose so," you said.

Angwen saw the embrace and kiss the two of you were locked in from afar. She was happy Venarion was too busy with feeding his horse an apple and showering it with affection to notice what was happening. She hadn't addressed it to you and preferred to wait until Venarion wasn't present. The girl certainly had her solid suspicions but to actually see the concrete, irrefutable proof rocked her to her core. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew her eyes weren't cheating her.

She found it so unlikely and remarkable. Somehow, love had come about and she couldn't dismiss it. No longer could she say that the Witch-king was incapable of human sensations. Her previous accusations and claims were no longer relevant. The heartless creature did possess a soul after all. She had been proven wrong and Angwen wasn't sure what to think. All she knew was that the two clearly loved one another.

Now she understood why you were reluctant to leave. She felt somewhat guilty but she also knew that leaving was for the best. She pitied your heartache and woes but Angwen knew it was all necessary. To remain behind would be most unwise and risky. It would only bring more hardship and danger.

"I miss the trees, the flowers, the sky, the rain," you murmured. "I want to go there and stay there…and I want to forget."

Angwen grasped onto one of your hands. She held it in hers and squeezed it gently. Her eyes were kind and assuring.

"Good things will come," she promised. "I know things have been terrifying and trying for us but peace, prosperity and happiness will follow soon enough. I know this." Then she redirected her attention to her youngest sibling. "Venarion, will you go check the horses?"

"Of course!" the boy beamed. Thankfully, he was oblivious to the whole incident. "I think I'll make sure they get another helping of oats. They ran nearly all day anyway."

Uncaring of the rain, the lad got up and went over to the horses. He spoke gently to them, not wanting to frighten them as he approached.

With Venarion distracted with his task, Angwen redirected her focus on you. She scooted closer and wrapped her arm around your form. As soon as she did that and pulled you closer, she could feel your form was shuddering. Your head was lowered to the ground and she couldn't see your face.

"Isilmë," she hushed. She pressed a kiss to your temple and kept you close. "It's fine. Calm yourself, Sister."

"I did this for you and Venarion," you quietly sobbed. "Angwen, I love you two dearly and I can't abandon either of you. If I forced you to stay behind, I would be going against everything that I am…"

"I understand why it was so hard. I know you're in love with him. And I know he is smitten with you as well. You have achieved an extraordinary and unbelievable feat. You have done the unthinkable and reawakened his humanity. I thought it wasn't possible."

"But I've failed. He will regress and Sauron will punish and ruin him once more. All of this was for naught. He suffers and I wanted to help him. I still want to!"

"You have helped him. The fact that he released you is telling in of itself. I saw you two at the gate. I can't deny what I've witnessed. Now I believe you."

"I fear that Sauron will suppress his memories again. I'm afraid of what could possibly happen. Angwen, what if we meet him again somehow? What if he doesn't remember us and he kills us?"

Angwen didn't want to entertain the idea. But she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Sauron's forces were victorious. They would have nowhere to run and hide and once again, the Enemy would seize them. It was a very real and frightening possibility. Yet the girl didn't want to mention or discuss it with you while you were still so heartbroken and overwhelmed.

"Your face is something he can never forget," she assured. "He never really forgot his original wife and you look just like her. I think you have that in your favor. It's alright, Isilmë. I know it hurts but we must move on. The sooner we get home, the better."

"I know you're right," you said. "The circumstances could've been far worse. I must swallow my grief and move onwards." You wrapped your arms around her in return. "Thank you, Angwen. I feel lucky to have you as my sister. I must have more courage and optimism. I can't afford to be downtrodden."

"And I am blessed to have you, Isilmë. Just as you love us, we love you as well. We are all we have and we must never let anything come between us."

"You're right." You gave her a small smile. "There is an ounce of wisdom in your thick head."

Angwen rolled her eyes and laughed. She still held you close and she rested the side of her head on your shoulder. Both of you were perfectly happy with resting quietly like this and to wait the storm out.

However, a strange sensation came over the both of you. Neither of you could hear or see Venarion anymore. Not only that the horses' heads were all turned towards the same direction. Something had arrested their attention.

"Do you feel something is awry?" you asked.

"Yes," Angwen answered. "And of course, our weapons are still on the horses."

"Move as quietly as possible. Get them out and let's seek Venarion. My stomach is forming knots."

As soundlessly as possible, you and your sibling got up from your seat on the earth. Your shoes squished lightly in the soggy ground beneath your feet but you still pressed on. You made your way over to the horses, hoping to get your arms out. Though you were reluctant to use them, you saw that you had no choice in the matter.

The horses were still focused on whatever lay ahead and you and Angwen tried to peer into the bushes and undergrowth to see if you could find anything.

"Venarion!" Angwen whispered as loudly as she could. "If this is a joke, cease this now!"

There was no reply. One of the horses snorted loudly and pawed at the ground in anticipation.

You wasted no time in trying to fish out your packaged weapon. Angwen followed suit and hastily dug out her armament. The tension was rife and you both tried to keep your hearing attuned. The storm was still ongoing and it was hard to hear much of anything amidst the falling rain and the thunderclaps.

Both of you managed to retrieve the daggers that were stowed away. You felt lucky and blessed to have been given them and mentally you thanked your consort for the consideration. It appeared they would be necessary after all much to your reluctance.

"Stick close to me," you ordered your remaining sibling. "Splitting up is not a smart idea right now."

"I couldn't agree more," the gray eyed maiden retorted.

The two of you left the side of the horses and looked off into the direction where the steeds still were fixated on. The vegetation was thick and the darkening conditions only made visibility worse. You took a few steps forward, determined to find your brother.

"Halt!"

The sudden and unfamiliar voice nearly made your heart stop beating. You certainly did hold your ground after hearing the command. Fear churned in your abdomen and you couldn't believe that you were being ambushed. The hand that clutched the dagger trembled but you steeled yourself, determined to not show any anxiety before whoever was confronting you.

"What are travelers doing out in this part of Ithilien?" the unseen man asked. "This is close to the Enemy's domain and Minas Morgul is about a day's ride away."

"Our business is our own!" you said. "I suppose you have my brother. I urge you to release him, whoever you are. We merely stopped here to wait out this deluge and we will be on our way after that."

"But anyone found within this area is highly suspect. My men and I patrol this place quite frequently so I find it unlikely we would let three people pass by to and fro so carelessly. And I would not react so brazenly either. My men are hidden but they have surrounded you and on my command, they will attack."

"We are harmless, that's all you need to know. Perhaps I will trust you more if you show yourself and explain who you are, good sir. If you do so, I will tell you who we are. And we will not lay our blades aside either unless if you give us a sound reason to."

There was nothing for a few moments. The longer the lack of a response went by, the more it unnerved you. You felt more nervous and you feared for Venarion more and more.

"Damn you, answer!" Angwen cursed. "You have our brother, he is only a child!"

Merely a second after she said those words, a shape emerged from the darkened woods around you. It was a man who wore the garb of the Rangers of Ithilien. He was a Man of Gondor. His hood was still over his face so you couldn't see much of his features but his outfit gave his allegiance off clearly.

"I am Captain Faramir," the man revealed. "It is my duty to keep watch over this region and look for any stirrings of the Enemy. He has been quiet for far too long and that is disconcerting. Now, may I have your names?"

"I am Isilmë," you reciprocated. "This is my sister, Angwen. Our brother is named Venarion."

Faramir went silent at your words. His eyes seemed to widen and his mind looked as if it was racing. He was thinking and his gaze didn't tear away from yours. You only held your ground, trusting this man and hoping he wouldn't make a rash and deadly decision.

"Isilmë?" he repeated. He almost sounded unsure.

"Yes," you confirmed. You remembered the story Angwen told you of your grandfather, father and brother who came to Gondor and spoke to Aragorn. Your eyes expanded momentarily. "Do you recall my grandfather? He was a Ranger of the North! His name was Aldahir! He fought at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields!"

"Aye, I recall hearing of him and your father, Kalahir and your brother, Mitharion, coming to Minas Tirith. They explained the ordeal to Lord Aragorn. You were taken by the Nazgûl and they made the long journey to rescue you from your captivity."

"Yes! I have been released along with my brother and sister! We were being held in Minas Morgul. We were making our home back in the West."

"You are the Morgul Lady."

Your jaw dropped at those words. Your blade nearly slipped out of your hand and you were utterly flabbergasted. There was no way anyone could have known about your union with the Witch-king and yet somehow, he knew the truth. You were speechless and you had no idea how to proceed further. You were afraid of saying the wrong words which might cost you and your siblings dearly.

"Please, do not worry," Faramir explained. "We already know about the situation. We've received inside news from someone who met your brother recently. I merely wanted to question you and see that the information was indeed correct. Forgive me."

Nothing he said made sense. No one could have known what had happened. Venarion never said anything about meeting anyone in Minas Morgul so it made it all the more stranger and confusing for you. It was all happening much too quickly and you didn't know what to say or do.

"I believe it would be easier if you came with us back to Minas Tirith," he said. "We have much to discuss and we have many questions for you, Isilmë. No harm will come to you, I promise. You will be in safe hands and no evil will befall you in our walls. You may trust me."

"We have been through great stress and peril, "Angwen said. "I do hope you are sincere and you don't intend to shame and slander my sister. She has been through a harrowing trial. We have no reason to trust anyone on any random whim. We have learned that the hard way. We nearly perished for being so trusting and blind."

"I understand fully. But you have my word and honor. You will be guests and we will not jump to conclusions so quickly. All we wish to do is talk about a great many curious things."

You nodded your head and you loosened your grip on your dagger.

"Captain Faramir, you have won me over," you said. "We will accompany you. But I will stress that we cannot remain in Minas Tirith for long. My family and I want to go home. Not only that, my heart cannot take remaining so close to Minas Morgul for much longer. The farther I am from him, the better off I am."

He understood.


	14. The Heart of the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History is usually written by one side and seen through one perspective.

Chapter 14 The Heart of the Matter

(…)

Never before had you seen the White City with your own eyes. You had only seen hand drawn images of it or heard tales about its beauty and grandeur. Your grandfather travelled to the mighty realm a handful of times in the past and you had heard your share of stories from him about those visitations. All you knew was that it was the most grand, comely and worthy bastion of Men that still stood in Middle Earth. It was a wondrous thing of legend and was founded by Elendil's descendants.

But when your eyes beheld the sight even from afar, you were amazed. It was a stark contrast to the grimness and dark atmosphere of Minas Morgul. Minas Tirith certainly didn't disappoint you and momentarily, you almost forgot about your previous anxieties and worries. It was the epitome of glory in your eyes. There was nothing more magnificent and commanding. Earlier, you felt like a fool for wanting to bypass it and go home without seeing it. You almost felt honored to look upon it for yourself.

You were still under the escort and supervision of Captain Faramir and his company of Rangers. They treated you and your siblings courteously but moved with as much haste as possible to get you to Minas Tirith. They strove to bring you to the White City and then resume their watch on Ithilien. Some of their number remained behind to survey things but the other portion would see you off.

The three of you remained in silent awe as you passed through the gates and were brought up to the upper levels of the citadel. Many curious citizens watched you and your family members as you passed by them. Their eyes were on you and you tried to avoid contact as much as possible. You were feeling incredibly insecure and you wondered just how many people knew about your bizarre circumstance. You only prayed that only a few people knew about it and not the whole of Middle Earth. Otherwise, you were sure you would have even more troubles to worry about. Preferably, you wanted to minimize the number as much as possible.

You continued your journey, ascending through the various tiers of the city. The ground became farther and farther away and you leaned away from any ledges, not wanting to become disoriented from the increasing height. You never experienced this sensation while within Minas Morgul but that dark kingdom didn't have any especial heights that made you feel ill.

While you were nervous and becoming increasingly unsettled, Angwen and Venarion were smitten. Like you, they too had never seen the White City. They heard tales about it and they also yearned to see it one day. They always wanted to visit the remnant realm of Númenor. In their blood, they were Arnorians but they still wanted to gaze upon the glory of the city their distant Gondorian kin dwelled in.

"This is a truly breathtaking city," Angwen commented. There was a smile on her face and her eyes were bright and joyous. "Captain Faramir, I can see why you and your men have fought against the forces of Mordor so long and hard."

"Thank you," Faramir sounded like he appreciated her words. "This is my home after all and I will not let it fall not while we still persist. This war may drag on but it is not over yet."

"I admit, I am somewhat jealous. We are of the Dúnedain of the North and our kingdom has long been extinguished. We have no city or capital to defend. All we have is our history and blood."

"That is still to be commended and respected. Your ancestors survived the scourge of Angmar and still linger today. Despite your numbers, you still safeguard the northern and westerly regions against the forces of the Enemy. Perhaps when this is all said and done and evil is expelled, Arnor will be reestablished. I cannot say for sure what the future may hold but you and your kin may dwell within Fornost once more after it had been ruined for over a thousand years."

That managed to make you smile. Fornost had once been the capital of Arthedain, the last and most powerful of the three kingdoms of Arnor. It resisted the forces of the Witch-king for centuries but ultimately, it had been destroyed and abandoned. Yet the thought of it possibly being restored and rebuilt made your heart a little lighter. It would be resurrected and once more it would be a proud city of Men. Pride welled up within you at the musing. It was a comforting thought you entertained yourself with in this harrowing time. There was a chance it might not happen though but it still made you feel more at ease to think it over.

At last, you made it up to the last and uppermost level of Minas Tirith. You could see the fabled yet flowerless White Tree in the middle of the courtyard. Your gaze was wholly focused on the Tree, still somewhat in disbelief that you were seeing it with your own eyes. You hardly even realized your siblings were dismounting while you studied it intently.

"Isilmë," your brother said. He placed his hand on your knee, wanting to snap you back to attention. "Come, we must go forth."

You promptly dismounted from your steed and allowed the tower guards to gently lead it away. Angwen and Venarion's horses were taken off to the stables as well in the meantime. Now you stood beside them along with your guide.

"Tell me, Captain Faramir," you said, "who awaits us?"

"My Lord Aragorn and some of his companions," he replied.

"I only hope that he and the others do not jump to conclusions so quickly. I fear that will be the case."

"Nay, my lady. We were previously informed of your…peculiar circumstances and we know of this delicate and odd situation. You have nothing to fear."

You didn't know whether to believe him or not. No matter what happened, you resolved to not tell them what you truly thought of your consort. They could never know that you had fallen for him. If they found out, you might as well be thrown into a dungeon and forgotten about. They wouldn't stand for it and you would be shamed and shunned for something that couldn't be helped.

"Please, follow me," he said. "I will take you to them."

Angwen and Venarion were close to follow the youngest son of the late Steward. You hesitated for a few seconds before you rejoined them.

The doors to the throne room opened up and you were immediately presented with a sight on the far side of the chamber. There sat the vacant throne of the king of Gondor. It remained that way ever since the day the last monarch, King Eärnur, rode off to Minas Morgul to accept a challenge many centuries ago. He never returned and since then, the throne remained cold and unoccupied. For years afterwards, the line of Stewards safeguarded it, waiting for an heir to sit upon it once more.

The throne remained unclaimed but sitting at its pedestal was a Man and his fellowship. As soon as the doors opened, heralding your arrival, their heads turned to your direction. Previously, it seemed as if they were deep in some sort of council.

Your breathing hitched when their eyes fell upon you but you forced yourself to keep following Faramir. You remained close behind him and tried to avoid eye contact from any particular person. Beside him, there appeared to be a few Hobbits, an Elf, a Dwarf and an old man.

"Faramir," Aragorn addressed warmly, "it is good to see you."

"My lord," Faramir gave him a polite bow.

"Please, there is no need for that, you know that."

"I still feel it is needed, sir, but I will get straight to the point. My men and I have come across these three people coming from the direction of Minas Morgul."

Venarion instantly recognized one of the Hobbits. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar face and he smiled at him. Truly, he was happy to see he was able to make it to Minas Tirith alive.

"It's good to see you made it to this city, Sam," Venarion greeted him. "I was worried but I'm glad to see you're alive and well."

"Aye, it is, young sir," the gardener gave him an equally warm greeting. "I'm still thankful you managed to sneak me out of that dreadful and dreary place. But I'm most surprised to see you here. How did this happen?"

You and Angwen were dumbstruck. Apparently, this Hobbit and Venarion knew one another but you had no idea how this was possible. You were sure that if there was a Hobbit in Minas Morgul, you would've known. It was vexing and you wondered why your brother never told you about this encounter.

"Isilmë, Angwen," Venarion introduced, "this is Samwise. I met him while I was exploring the depths of Minas Morgul. I led him through the passages and tunnels and told him about our circumstances. I asked him to tell whoever he was going to meet about us. I just didn't want to tell you about it for fear someone else might find out somehow. I thought secrecy was the wisest thing to choose."

You were somewhat burned by his betrayal but you also applauded his cleverness. You were happy he kept his mouth shut about this encounter. If word got out about it, you didn't even want to imagine what would've followed that. But you also very heartily wished Venarion hadn't told him that you and the Witch-king had been joined. The shame burned in you all the brighter.

"You are the Witch-king's captives," Aragorn said. Angwen and Venarion gave him a bow. You did so as well, wishing to show respect and relay that you were no threat. "Thank you but that is unnecessary. I may have come to Minas Tirith but I am not king just yet. I refuse to call myself one until Sauron is truly vanquished. But I am most curious of your time amongst the Nine and how you've managed to survive such conditions."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. Your nerves were becoming unwound and it was harder for you to maintain your calm resolve. Again, you tried to reassure yourself that they wouldn't brand you as an enemy. You tried to tell yourself it would be alright and you would explain your case to them. There would be no need for all this panic and anxiety and yet it was here, hounding you. Immediately, you were assuming the first and you feared it would all be made a reality.

"Your heart is troubled."

You weren't expecting someone else to address you. Your eyes shifted over to the voice's owner. A blonde Elf was making his way over to your side. He appeared intrigued and he was approaching you almost cautiously.

"There is a stain upon you," he said. "I can sense some semblance of sorcery overhanging you."

"Your perception is true and clear, Legolas," another spoke. This time, it was the white haired old man.

You had heard stories about Gandalf the Gray but this man in front of you was dressed in white garbs. He also held his staff in one hand, further confirming your suspicions that he might've been a wizard. At first, you assumed it was Saruman who was standing before you but you had learned some time ago that said wizard transformed into a turncoat and became an ally of Sauron. He had been defeated some time later and the Dark Lord was deprived of his assistance since then.

"There is a mark of witchcraft upon you as well," the Elvish prince noted.

"Yes," you answered uneasily. "One of the Witch-king's servants nearly sealed my fate. She placed a spell upon me, almost killing me. She was stopped at the last minute but…" You gestured to the gray stripe amongst your hair. "I didn't emerge from that altercation unscathed. Not only that, I am bound to the lord of the Nazgûl. When we were wedded, an ambassador of Sauron bound us with a powerful magic. I suppose that was what you sensed."

"You must tell us more, my dear," Gandalf encouraged. "Remember, you have nothing to fear in our company."

You noticed that the eyes of the Dwarf were steely and sharp. He was definitely interested in what was going on but he remained quiet. His attention was wholly invested in you and it made you feel so studied and unsettled.

The three Hobbits who stood by him were also silent. They eyed you inquisitively and you could tell that they looked unsure. For now, they had no idea what to make of you. You were merely a stranger with an unbelievable tale.

You swallowed roughly and took a deep breath.

"I understand my story may disturb you," you began. "I am not sure what details my brother told your friend and then was relayed to you, good sirs. If you will not believe me, I will understand. If this hadn't happened to me, I most likely wouldn't believe it myself. I will not tell you every single detail but I will condense it for you the best I can. I was taken from my home and my family nearly two years ago just a few days before October. I was then taken to Minas Morgul and was wedded against my will a few days after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. I gave in to him to keep my family safe and to gain his favor for that desired safety. There was no love or affection for him in my heart when we were joined. I remained alone in that place until my brother and my sister here joined me a year later. I requested the Witch-king to bring them to me so I could keep them under my watch. However, most of my family died and Angwen and Venarion were the only ones that survived. We all stayed within Minas Morgul together for a little over a month before the Witch-king officially released us. He decreed it and told us to leave. He willingly let us free and we took the opportunity. And now we stand before you. We were making our way back home and we had no other motives or plans. All we wanted was to go back and try to resume our lives. We only wanted to get as far away from Minas Morgul as possible."

"I remember when your grandfather came to Minas Tirith and he told me about your capture," Aragorn said. "He told me everything." He paused, feeling shame burn in him. He denied Aldahir and he told your grandfather you had to have been dead. There was no way you were supposed to be alive. "I remember your grandfather said that the Witch-king took interest in you."

How you wished that he wouldn't speak of the dead and the Witch-king. But you would cooperate and answer all their questions the best you could. Cooperation would make things far easier for yourself and your siblings.

"That is correct," you confirmed. "The only reason why he stole me away was because I bore a startling likeness to the wife he had in his old life before he fell to the power of Sauron. He never forgot her and he sought to keep me because of that."

The majority of them appeared to be confused by that reveal. However, Gandalf didn't seem so perplexed. Instead, his gaze was intent and studious. He was listening to each of your words carefully and he was wholly invested in whatever you had to say about the matter.

"How is that possible?" Gimli spoke up. He grunted and took a puff from his pipe. "From what I heard about those screeching, robed fellows, they're all about terrible business. And I don't think I'm about to believe that their leader still remembers and misses his wife."

"I agree," Legolas seconded. "That is most strange. Sauron erased all of their memories and traces of their past lives. They're supposed to be completely enslaved and reliant on him."

"And I concur wholeheartedly," you said. "I wish I knew more about these mysteries but Sauron allowed him to keep her memory." You didn't know how you could keep this conversation as objective as possible. It was becoming a titanic effort already. "But I assure you, I have learned a great many things about them that I thought wasn't possible. In the company of the servants of the Enemy, I saw much. There is much more than to what we previously thought and assumed of them."

"If he desired you because you reminded him of her, why did he release you?" Aragorn pressed. "I find that most mysterious of all."

You had no idea how to answer that question. You didn't want to tell them the truth. Not only that, you knew they wouldn't believe it. They'd think it was some sort of tasteless jest. They couldn't know the truth.

"He deemed I was a liability after one of his jealous, fanatical servants attacked me," you said. You hoped that this disguised truth would be good enough. "He thought I was too soft and weak so he cast me out."

"But if that were the case, he would've killed you, wouldn't he?" Pippin asked. The Hobbit stepped forward, eager to chip into the conversation.

"I would assume so too, sir, but here I am. I'm not sure why he didn't just dispose of me but I won't ponder over that too much. I am only happy to have left. His mercy was a most unexpected gift so I seized it and ran."

Gandalf then drew closer. You held your ground, feeling a bit unnerved. The White Wizard extended his hand out to you, entreating you to grab onto it.

"My lady, would you be as so kind as to take my hand for a moment?" he asked. "Don't worry too much, I just want to see and feel something. It will be easy and painless for you."

Your face paled and you thought you could feel sweat forming on your palms. You were becoming petrified but you didn't want to deny his request either. Obviously, he wanted to test something but what it was, you had no earthly idea. You only prayed all would be well in the end.

You balled up your hand momentarily before you unclenched it. Then you raised your arm and extended your hand to him.

His hand grasped onto yours. It felt as if a jolt of energy ran through you, causing you to tremble for a brief second. You could feel the Wizard focusing in on the bond you still shared with the Wraith lord. While you would've initially felt terrified, you felt calm and at peace. It suddenly felt as if your troubles had melted away. You assumed he was using some sort of magic to keep you calm as he delved deeper.

"There is a bond," he said out loud. "The two are connected to each other. He can feel her from afar and she can do the same with him. It is indeed a powerful magic that has entwined their beings. I sense…" His nose wrinkled as he explored the bond deeper. "Guilt, sadness, anger, heartache… Love. There are feelings that are all too human and real."

"Gandalf, has your mind gone dusty and witless?" Gimli asked, his eyebrows perked up. "What're you picking up?"

The Wizard shot him a searing leer, silently ordering him to be quiet. He wanted and needed concentration and Gimli wasn't giving him any of that. The Dwarf seemed to shrink back and he fell quiet again.

"I can sense him as you can," Gandalf went on. "He is in Mordor… He is conflicted and angry. He is suffering. My dear, it is clear to me that he is very fond of you. He didn't want to let you go."

The silence that followed his words was staggering. Your face was as red as a rose and you felt humiliated. Your shame was overcoming that tranquility you previously felt. Now he could easily feel and read your true emotions and it mortified you. On the inside, you were beginning to flounder and panic. You didn't want the full truth to be unveiled. You didn't know if you could take such a thing.

"How can that be?" Merry pressed. "That makes no sense!"

"Be silent!" Gandalf ordered. "I am still trying to decipher…"

The wise Wizard delved deeper. Gandalf could very much sense the Witch-king and it was such an odd thing. If he wasn't tapping into this powerful bond, he wouldn't be able to sense him and his feelings at all. The sensations that the lord of the Nazgûl was giving off were so strange and unexpected. They were so marked and obvious. Clearly, he was upset and Gandalf couldn't deny it. This was unlike anything he expected.

Gandalf knew that they were indeed the chief servants of the Enemy. Long had they served him and they wielded great and devastating power if it called for it. For countless years, they were immersed in Sauron's will and influence. Their identities had been taken away and their thoughts and minds were under their master's constant surveillance and domination. They were deemed to be slates wiped clean and rewritten with evil words.

But what he was picking up seemed to challenge that notion. All he knew was that they were once mortal Men but it had been assumed they were simply incapable of recovering their forsaken humanity. It was believed that they were completely mindless puppets. But now it appeared that Sauron was able to suffocate such a thing but wasn't able to completely rip it out and destroy their more human qualities.

He had seen and felt enough.

Gandalf released your hand and ceased the reading. He took a deep breath and he shook his head. He was almost disturbed by the realizations he made. Earlier, he pitied them for being fools and being deceived so easily. Now he pitied them for their endless suffering.

"There is much conflict," he at last told his companions. "What we previously understood is only a portion of the whole matter."

"Gandalf, what exactly is going on?" Aragorn stated. He was listening all too well earlier but he needed clarification. He needed to be told it again. "How is this so?"

"My sister did something to him," Angwen at last spoke.

A look of complete terror came across your face. You were aghast and you panicked, fearing what your sister would say. You hoped she would keep her mouth shut and not participate in this delicate situation. You didn't need her to exacerbate things.

"Angwen!" you hissed. "Please, hold your tongue! Do not complicate things further!"

"I have seen it all myself," she proclaimed.

She ignored your words and was set on unveiling the truth. With what Gandalf had discovered through the bond, you saw it was pointless to hide it any longer. You merely hung your head low and surrendered to whatever fate had in store for you next. With the way you saw it, your life was forfeit.

"I was skeptical," Angwen admitted. "I hated him with all of my being. I hated him for taking my eldest sibling from us. I sought to undermine and resist him if it could be done. Although Venarion and I hadn't been in Minas Morgul for long, I didn't truly believe it until we were about to leave. Somehow, she was able to awaken some long dormant part of his old self. He fell in love with her. And he released her because he loved her. He didn't want her to suffer or risk being nearly killed yet again. I will never deny it and I speak the truth. I will stick to that belief until my dying breath and I will say to all of you that my sister is braver than I could ever dream to be."

To hear those words humbled you further. How you longed to hide your face and run off into the wilderness. You knew that Gandalf traversed deeply enough and you were sure he felt and read your thoughts as he discovered the Witch-king's. No longer could you try to cover such a thing up. There was nowhere to hide and you knew it all too well. Now, all would know of your dark and shameful secret.

"As wasting and as powerful as Sauron's strength is," Gandalf said, "it isn't wholly encompassing. His influence is like a poison and it does indeed corrupt and consume. But it takes a certain amount of willpower and character to hold onto a shred of that old self. And with a little outside influence, it can set off a chain reaction which will spawn events no one can predict." He nodded at Angwen. "My dear, I will believe your claim. It corroborates what I've discovered for myself."

"Isilmë?" Venarion spoke. He grasped onto your hand. You couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye. "Is this all true?"

"Yes," you replied.

You couldn't say anything else. There were no words you could say or try to explain yourself. All you could do was stand in place and not meet anyone's stare. You were a pariah and a shame and you wouldn't be surprised if they demonized you for it.

"I'll trust your wisdom," Legolas said to Gandalf. "I find it unlikely and unbelievable but you have always been insightful and wise, Mithrandir."

"A lovesick Nazgûl?" Gimli snorted. "Ridiculous. That's one of the most asinine things I've ever heard of!" The red headed Dwarf sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Whatever will happen next?"

Merry couldn't comprehend it all. Through the whole exchange, he remained silent. He wanted to hear everything that had to be said. But to hear these findings and conclusions shocked him immensely.

Over a year ago, at Weathertop, the Witch-king attacked and stabbed Frodo with a Morgul blade. The assault nearly cost Frodo his life and his soul but he had been saved at the last minute. A few months later, the same nefarious Nazgûl attacked and killed King Théoden outside the gates of Minas Tirith during the great battle. Merry was certain Ếowyn was about to join her uncle in death as she battled the wretched Wraith and he fought through throngs of Orcs to try to aid her. He was delayed but he found himself lucky that the Witch-king had lost interest in his fight with the shieldmaiden, shattered her arm and left her for dead. The brave Hobbit was able to safeguard her while she was weakened and vulnerable and he stayed by her side until the battle concluded.

The opinion he had of the Witch-king was abysmal at best. He loathed him for what he had done and he wasn't about to forgive him anytime soon. So to hear that the creature actually had some humanity and had supposedly fallen in love with this strange woman who stood before him and his friends, he was in disbelief. As much as he valued and heeded Gandalf's words and wisdom, he was still suspicious. Merry simply couldn't view the Witch-king in any other way. He was a feared and reviled enemy. He certainly couldn't ever be trusted and needed to be defeated as swiftly as possible.

"When you were in Minas Morgul, what else did you see?" Aragorn asked. He was still flabbergasted over Gandalf's observations but he would still press more about your tenure.

How you longed to not speak before them. But you were happy they seemed to depart from the humiliating matter. Now they were discussing far more dire and pressing matters. And you wouldn't withhold any information of that nature from them. You had no loyalty to Sauron and you much desired to have him defeated.

"After you defeated the Morgul host and its Haradric allies," you said, "Sauron was severely displeased. As we speak, he is building an army that is larger and more terrifying than the last. He is biding his time and making it so that he can achieve complete annihilation over your forces. He wants his revenge and he will make sure he seizes it. He is also indeed trying to attack the lands in the West. I've also heard rumors of Sauron considering resurrecting Angmar from its ashes so he could start a two fronted war. He wants to tire and exhaust the free realms so it will be easier for him to dominate his enemies. I personally don't know much else of the finer details and I'm sure my information either confirms your suspicions or doesn't help much at all. "

"It indeed confirms our previous suppositions," Gandalf nodded. "We knew that Sauron sent some his Nazgûl westwards and there were attacks and Orcish uprisings but we didn't think he would give thought to the Witch-king's old kingdom. You say it is only a rumor but it is still welcome news. That only prompts us to take action all the more swiftly. We cannot afford to let Sauron reestablish Angmar. Our neighbors in the West wouldn't be able to match its might. The combined strength of Mordor and Angmar would be like a cruel clamp. It would tighten on our forces and that of our allies and it would become a war of attrition. They will continuously attack until we literally have no forces to spare. And when there is no one left to oppose them, then it will be for the worst."

"Have you the forces to contest Sauron? I certainly hope that you do. If you don't, I suggest you cross into Mordor and find the Ring before the Nazgûl do. They are searching for it and I imagine they'll keep at it for as long as their master commands. We all may be on borrowed time."

Previously, the Fellowship had been considering sneaking into Mordor to find Frodo and take the Ring so it could be destroyed. But upon hearing your news, it confirmed their previous thoughts. The fact that they had some inside information about this matter put things into perspective more clearly. It only assured them of how dire the situation was. Time truly was of the essence and they had to make their move before the Enemy could. If they didn't, it might end in a catastrophe.

"I'll go," Samwise said. "I'll go back into Mordor and find Mister Frodo." It pained him but he would do what was necessary to destroy the Ring. He couldn't allow it to exist anymore. To let it remain intact was an injustice to all of Middle Earth. "I've suffered through Mordor for some time so I somewhat know my way around that dreadful place."

"I'm going too," Merry volunteered. "Sam's not going alone."

"And that makes me the third," Pippin added. "Two is fine but three is better. We need teamwork to get this quest done. And I'm not abandoning Frodo either."

"Sam, you're still exhausted and worn from your journey," Aragorn interjected. "Perhaps I should go in your stead."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with that, Strider," Sam teased lightly. "Your place is here in Gondor, sir. This is going to be your kingdom when this is all said and done. I'm sorry but I am going. Gondor needs you more than it needs me. Frodo is still out there and I'm going to take him back to the Shire if I can. I had to leave earlier to let you all know what happened and now that you know and I have some of my strength back, I am going. I know my way around Mordor and thanks to some inside help I know there is another way into Mordor that almost no one knows about. I'm not afraid."

Aragorn knew he couldn't sway his decision. He applauded his stout heart and his determination to bring Frodo back. The Heir of Isildur nursed private concerns about the state of mind of the Ringbearer but he wouldn't confide such things to the gardener. He couldn't deny him or restrain him. He knew Sam's place was by Frodo's and he wouldn't deny him the chance to reunite with his dear friend.

"It would be for the best," Gandalf said. "Three Hobbits in Mordor will have less of a likelihood of being detected. They're smaller and they're quicker and lighter on their feet. They'll be the perfect candidates for sneaking into that terrible place and avoiding detection from the Nazgûl. Anyone else who may go on this journey will not be as lucky."

"Gandalf," Merry said, "can these strangers be trusted? In particularly, can we trust the bride?"

The way he said those words made it feel as if a knife was driven into your being Very easily, you could sense the suspicion and distrust he had. If you were in his shoes and if someone else were in yours, you were sure you'd be wary and defensive. Either way, the Hobbit's judgment stung you.

"I have seen and felt the nature of this situation," the strongest of the Istari said. "She is telling the truth. I will see if I can mute or disrupt this bond so that no complications will come about from it. I fear it may have the potential to tamper with our efforts." He looked to you. "My pardons, my lady, but for now I believe it is best if you remain in Minas Tirith. I know you long to go home but given the situation, I think it is wise to have you stay here for some time."

It was a hindrance but you wouldn't argue with it. Ideally, you wanted to be on your way but for now, that wasn't allowed. You urged yourself to have patience. You told yourself you would be granted permission to leave in time. It was a necessary precaution and you wouldn't make things difficult for them. Willingly, you would assist them in whatever way you could.

"I agree, sir," you concurred. "The Witch-king cannot read my thoughts from afar but if you wish for me to stay here for security purposes, then I will allow this. I won't argue. And if it will give you any comfort, I fully endorse and support your efforts. I know who I am and where my alliances truly lay. I wish to see Sauron fall. He cannot be allowed to fester here any longer."

You always wished for the Dark Lord's downfall. Long had he haunted and plagued these lands and you wanted Middle Earth to be rid of him. But now you had another reason to see him fall. With his defeat, your consort would be freed from him. It became all the more personal to you.

It hurt you to come to this particular mindset but there were no other alternatives in mind now. You were no longer by his side and you grudgingly saw that Sauron's might wasn't to be shaken off so easily. His hold on the Nazgûl was powerful. A power greater than him needed to be used to relinquish them from his control. It grieved you but now you unhappily acknowledged death was the only way. No amount of love could free him…

Even if he did decide to visit in your dreams while you were in Gondor, you decided that you wouldn't tell him anything. You wouldn't tell him what the Men of the West were planning. For his own good, you wouldn't tell him about the three Hobbits who planned to enter Mordor and finish what the Ringbearer started. In order to free him from his master, you would allow them to destroy the Ring and kill Sauron and by extension, him. Your heart would ache but you wouldn't allow the Enemy to win.

How you wanted your love to flourish and bloom. How you wanted to be with him and partake in your mutual feelings but you also knew it could never be. From the beginning, it was a cruel failure. A creature of the shadows and a dweller of the light could never truly be together. Only hardship and incompleteness could follow such a thing.

Silently, you would let it die. The fate of all these lovely lands and all who lived in them was in the balance and you wouldn't jeopardize such precious things. It was far more important and dear than any of these feelings you had lingering in your heart. You hoped this would be the final sacrifice.

"When Masters Samwise, Meriadoc and Peregrine are ready to depart, I will escort them to Ithilien," Faramir volunteered. "I must reunite with my company and maintain vigilance over that land. I will take them and drop them off at a certain point."

"Yes, thank you, Faramir," said Aragorn. "We will need to make haste and embark on this errand. We shouldn't delay this any longer." The Chieftain of the Dúnedain turned to you. "Thank you for your cooperation, my lady. It is much valued and appreciated."

"If I may contribute to Sauron's downfall in any way, I am more than happy to help," you said. The smile you gave was small but it was genuine. "I am grateful for your kindness and understanding."

"Since you are to remain in Gondor for the time being, you may reside within these walls with your family. You will be showed to your rooms and you will be treated as guests."

"Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Angwen said. "If you are still doubtful about my sister's true alliance, you will see that she has nothing to hide as time goes on."

"I know the heart of the matter," Gandalf chimed in. "I know the truth and I am convinced you are honest about this." He began to walk off but he gestured the guests to follow him. "Come, I will show you to your rooms. Not only that, I believe a tour is in order."

"Finally!" Venarion sighed. "I want to explore every inch and crack of this beautiful city!"

"I do not think you will be disappointed, my lad."


	15. The Ringbearer's Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate is an odd and unpredictable thing.

Chapter 15 The Ringbearer's Heir

(two days later)

The hellish halo from the East held your attention yet again. Your heart quickened and your guts churned at the grim sight of it. The rumbling from Mordor sent a chill down your spine and somehow, it seemed to bother you far more in Minas Tirith than it did in Minas Morgul. In fact, there were times when you almost forgot the Black Land was just beyond the mountains that ringed the domain you once resided in. You suspected it was because your vision of Sauron's territory was more obscured in the Witch-king's realm. In Gondor, your view was less obstructed but farther off.

You couldn't comprehend how the Gondorians were forced to look upon the brewing inferno in the East. They were subject to it every day. Every day, they would hear it and see it. Every day, they had to fear and prepare. At any point, they could be attacked and they would need to be prepared for such an onslaught. It was a constant warning and reminder. Peace was something that couldn't be sown in a place like this while such evil still ran rampant and threatened everything they held dear and sacred.

The concept was beyond you. You didn't know if you could live within this city everyday and have to suffer the foreboding rumblings of Mordor. You believed it would drive you to madness. Eventually, you felt you would have to leave and forsake it and make your way west as much as possible. The greater distance you kept between yourself and that accursed region, the better off you would be. You were spoiled by the relative security you enjoyed when you still lived in your homeland and you wouldn't trade it for anything else.

So far, Angwen and Venarion enjoyed their stay. They too were wary of the looming threat of Mordor but they chose to relish their new surroundings. They weren't as affected by it in contrast to you. The duo were simply too happy and all too willing to bask in the glory of Minas Tirith. It was all a treat to them.

Your youngest sibling was bouncing with energy and life and you could see that he was clearly happy with his freedom. While he was in Minas Morgul, he was far more subdued and somber. Venarion's spirits were lighter and it seemed as if he had sunshine in his eyes. It seemed that new life and joy had been breathed into him. It made your heart glad to know that his spirits were restored and he was far better off. To see him so jovial caused your smiles to last a little longer.

Primarily, Angwen's place was by your own. She kept close to you, consoling you as needed. Her concern for you never diminished and she still wanted to be by your side. She knew of your anxiety and desire to leave and she took it upon herself to placate and comfort you for the time being. Despite her admiration of the city, she wanted to leave as well but she knew the departure would be delayed for now. Nothing could be done in the meantime though Angwen loathed to admit it.

You were under close and careful surveillance as well. Gandalf kept by your side, wanting to monitor the bond you had with the Wraith lord. He feared the Witch-king would try to communicate with you and possibly pry into your mind to figure out what you were doing in Minas Tirith. The Wizard wanted to keep the Hobbits' mission a secret and wouldn't risk anyone finding out about it. It was a most dire errand and he wouldn't risk their livelihood. There was no way he could jeopardize this last effort.

You disliked being guarded like this but you tolerated it. Again, you told yourself to remain patient and wait to see what more what would happen. You kept assuring yourself you would be home soon and on your way. Your patience and cooperation would pay off. In time, you would be across kingdoms and mountains and home again. It was your sole comfort and you repeatedly told yourself that good things came to those who waited. If you were to flee or try to leave, you were certain it would lead them to distrust you and you had no desire to have those seeds of hardship be sown. You strove to prove you weren't a threat and a possible sympathizer of the Enemy.

"I hope you do not mind that I converse with you a bit more on this matter," Gandalf said.

"Oh, no, that is all well and fine, sir," you replied. "I do not mind. But I wonder what else you can find out. I thought that you had experienced and saw enough through the bond."

"I have been enlightened immensely by exploring it but I'm still terribly curious over it all. It is not everyday that this new perspective of the Nazgûl is entertained, let alone proved."

You stepped out of your chambers and out into the hallway where he stood. Once you were out, you shut the door behind you. The Wizard began to walk down the corridor, gesturing you to follow him.

"A walk and a chat is good for both mind and body," he said.

"Aye, it is," you agreed.

Out of all these souls you met, you found yourself trusting Gandalf the most. He was patient and you felt at ease around him. Although he easily read you and was able to decipher you far more quickly than the others, you still believed he meant well. He was intrigued by your circumstances but didn't seem to overly react or seem especially shocked by your account. He listened when you spoke and didn't jump to conclusions.

But despite these things that you noticed, you resolved to maintain some guard. The last time you trusted a seemingly kindly stranger she proceeded to drain the life out of you and sought to usurp you. Yet you would recall whenever he held your hand when you were first questioned. The serenity and peace couldn't be denied and you were soothed even as he investigated the nature of your bond with your consort. You were certain the White Wizard was nothing like Mariss but you still were wary and hesitant.

"I know what your heart desires," he started. "I know you want to be on your way but I am grateful for your cooperation in this matter."

"It is a sacrifice I am willing to make," you said. "I do not mind it too much."

"I know you want to be as far away from Minas Morgul as possible."

"Yes."

"There is pain in your voice."

"Yes…"

Gandalf could indeed sense that you had developed feelings for the Wraith you were bound to. He felt it when he delved into the connection. He witnessed it and he still couldn't believe it. It was something he never would've previously considered or let alone predicted. His previous notions and presuppositions were challenged but he couldn't deny what he experienced. The sensations and feelings were too vivid and powerful. The impossible had been made reality.

"I cannot help it," you explained. "I didn't comprehend or accept it until I was about to leave. It hurt to go but I knew I had to depart. Such a thing should've never been formed. It was never meant to be and now I must suffer these torturous thoughts and feelings. I feel so hopeless and powerless and I am disgusted with myself."

You caught yourself pouring your heart out despite your previous wish to not do so. You wanted to chastise yourself but you knew there was no use in hiding anything from Gandalf. He already knew everything and it was pointless in trying to conceal or resist.

"I am a disgrace," you vented. "Perhaps some Morgul madness has afflicted me. That is the only logical explanation."

"You know that is not the case," the wizard said. "It was cultivated and it bloomed. I didn't think such a thing was possible until I held your hand and felt both of you. There is no denying it. There was heartache and sorrow in him and I felt the same in you. I know this cannot be some elaborate, complicated farce. The Nazgûl are indeed under Sauron's thralldom. But you were able to reach into him and pull out a long dormant shred of his old self. You saw that through the veil of shadows and you took pity on him. Despite his circumstances, he became partial to you. That tells me that they are capable of humanity. The other Nazgûl are equally capable of remembering it as well. It is only unfortunate that their life force is bound to Sauron's. It is so complete and utter that in order to free them, you must kill them. Therefore, the only way to do this is to destroy the Ring."

You had hoped that Gandalf could possibly find another way around this solution. Grudgingly, you saw this was the only remedy. You made peace with it as much as it hurt you. The Witch-king would find freedom through death and you would allow this to come to pass. You only hated how you hoped you could do something to liberate him but it all ended up to be false and foolish. There was no other way. You were demanding the impossible.

"You do not think ill of me?" you questioned.

"I find myself mystified but I do not," he answered. "Fate has a strange way of weaving things. We cannot truly hope to fully understand things and how and why they come about. We must deal with things as they are given to us. From there, we carry on from there and wait for what other things the future will bring to us. It is as simple as that."

"This is all too cryptic for my taste."

The old man laughed softly at your reply.

"Yes, but that is what we must work with," said Gandalf. "That is something we all must suffer. Fate is inevitable and we cannot escape it no matter how hard we may try."

You were unsure of what to say back to him. Truthfully, you didn't even want to interact with anyone. Your thoughts were still occupied and your spirits were watered down. Bitterness gnawed at you and apprehension held you captive.

"I regret all of this," you lamented. "I wish none of this had ever happened. It hurts and I want this to end."

"Everything that has transpired has happened for a reason," the White Wizard replied. "There is some plan in motion that none of us are aware of. Not even Sauron himself is aware of what is going on. There is a reason why you bore a likeness to the Witch-king's lost love. There is a reason why you two became close and developed these mutual feelings for each other. Yes, it does hurt. It is all natural. For better or for worse, all of these circumstances will play out. It all fits into the greater plan that lies ahead."

He had an answer of sorts to your grievances. You felt unfulfilled and empty when you heard his words but you knew he was speaking the truth. He was far wiser than you and had seen many more years and occurrences than you had. You weren't going to argue with the White Wizard.

"And I know you feel shame for developing the feelings you have now," he continued. "But you must not fret. It happened and sprung forth for a reason. All I can urge and advise is patience, my lady."

"Yes…" you nodded. "Thank you for your wise counsel. I will take it all into consideration. I must trust you for I do not know what to make of all of these thoughts and emotions."

"It only shows just how human and conflicted you are. And I sensed just as much in the one you share your link with. That in of itself is more encouraging than I had ever assumed possible for his ilk. Have courage and faith."

Now in these circumstances, you found yourself hoping for one thing for the Witch-king. You prayed that Sauron would not undo that which had resurged. You hoped that the man your consort once was would stir more. You hoped he was waking up more and more…

"I truly hope your trio of Hobbits are able to find the Ringbearer," you remarked. "Sauron is adamant about it being retrieved. I very much fear him finding it and wielding it yet again. I shudder to think that my other half..." You trembled at the possibility. "I know he will condemn us. He hates his master but he has no choice."

"They will set out in two day's time," said Gandalf. "They're preparing and stocking up on provisions. Then they will make haste to Mordor. We can only hope that Merry, Pippin and Sam succeed."

You only hoped that would be the case. If they were to fail, you didn't know what else could be done. You didn't know if anything else would work...

(two days later)

_The silver wolves were closing in. All of the members of this pack were rather large and despite their intimidating frames, they looked terribly emaciated and frail. Aside from this apparent weakness, they were more than poised to attack. Their lips were curled back into ferocious snarls, revealing savage, white teeth and the saliva that dripped from them. The fur on their backs bristled and almost looked as sharp as needles. Their tails were rigid and hardly moved. Clawed feet scraped at the earth beneath them. Some of them barked and growled, a few others howled and the remaining ones were silent._

_They had finally caught up to their quarry and now they were creeping in for a kill. They sniffed loudly, easily taking in the fear radiating from their prey and savoring it. Their teeth gnashed and the saliva that oozed from their mouths became more copious. Soon enough, they would feast and not even bones would remain when they would be done with their victim._

_Frodo looked around furiously for any sort of escape or opening. He was encircled and there was simply no way he could hope to even fight back. His strength and his energy was spent. His willpower and drive was beaten into the ground and he knew he was doomed. The beasts formed a tight circle around him and the frightened Hobbit knew that he couldn't hope to flee. They formed a wall around him and he knew that even one of their number would completely overpower him and tear him to pieces._

_The nine wolves closed the gap. Frodo's eyes flitted about, not knowing which beast would begin the first attack. It could come from any angle and he knew it would happen at any moment. The fear of the unknown made it all the more harrowing for him._

_All of these wolves looked nearly identical as he tried to study each one. The only marked difference he picked out amongst them was their eye colors. It was so strange and he couldn't explain it. Some of them had brown eyes, a few others had a shade of green or hazel and the remainders possessed a blue or gray color. He found it so odd it was the only way one could truly tell each of the beasts apart from each other._

_Once he looked ahead yet again after trying to survey each of the individual animals, he screamed. The largest of the wolves pounced on him without warning and sunk its teeth into his shoulder. The creature ripped into his flesh and it tore open the scar he received from the Morgul blade. Frodo cried out in agony and he attempted to beat at the animal's skull in an effort to get it to stop._

_As soon as the alpha attacked him, he could feel and hear the other wolves descend upon him. Their teeth pierced his flesh and he could feel them start to eviscerate him. He only screamed into the air, feeling his blood gush and leave his body. He could feel their jaws shear through his limbs as they dismembered him while he still breathed. They showed him no mercy and they meant to end his life in this gruesome manner._

_Even as the pack leader ripped at his shoulder and lapped up his blood, Frodo noticed its eye color. It was of the deepest blue, almost looking to be the same hue of the sea or of the shine of sapphire._

(…)

He roused himself from the nightmare he was plunged in. But as soon as he awoke, Frodo could feel that the pain he experienced in his dream still persisted. Although the fiendish wolves were long gone, he still felt as if they were mutilating him. In fact, the agony he felt it was all too real…

The Hobbit found himself waking up all the more swiftly. When he saw that the scar still tormented him mercilessly, he knew this was no trick of his weary and worn mind. It wouldn't go away and the dream had indeed ended.

Previously, he was sleeping beneath a boulder he took shelter under. But now he saw he was in grave danger. His heart pounded madly in his chest and he clutched the Ring tightly. Frodo was reluctant to leave the comfort of his hideaway but he knew that he had to see what was happening. He had to at least find his bearings and see if he could find his enemy. It was obvious to him that his pursuer was close. He had returned and he was advancing upon him.

Cautiously, he poked his head out at first, trying to search the immediate area. As far as he could see, there was nothing aside from the dry, barren land he had called home for over a year. He could see nothing but the pain persisted. Until it dissipated, he wouldn't be placated. He knew he was still at risk.

Then he crawled out from beneath his temporary abode. He kept low and anxiously scanned his area. As far as he could tell, he saw nothing. Still, his shoulder tortured him.

Frodo managed to choke back a shrill gasp of pain. He clutched his shoulder and he ground his teeth together. The aching flared up again it became even more painful than before. He fell to his knees and he rocked back and forth on them slowly. His unearthly enemy was upon him and the fallen Ringbearer knew he had to make haste and make his escape. This Nazgûl was close and Frodo began to fret that the shadowy Man would sniff him out and locate him. Fear swiftly filled every crack and crevice of his being.

He knew he had to be near. Where this nightmarish creature was he wasn't exactly sure. All he knew was that the Wraith had to be close. The pain in his shoulder only seemed to flare up whenever he was in the Witch-king's vicinity. The fact that he couldn't hear or see him made him all the more alarmed and panicked. He could be very close or he could be a little farther off. In the end, he was far too close for comfort.

His joints felt like water and he found it hard to even move or breathe. Yet he forced himself to stand back up onto his feet. His knees trembled and he felt dreadfully weak but he knew he had to either stand or die. The aura of terror and despair the Wraith exuded was powerful and Frodo knew that he had to have been near if he was becoming affected by it even from afar. He needed to get out but he had no idea where to go. Before him laid a vast, desolate volcanic plain and there were no large rocks to hide behind or beneath. Behind him, there were only a handful of rocks but they were smaller and wouldn't offer much shelter either. Panic was starting to seize him and he knew he was running out of time and options.

The voice of the Ring grew louder and more insistent. It tempted him terribly, urging him to slip it onto his finger. At any moment, he felt as if he was about to be driven into madness by both horror and desire. He knew that if he put the Ring on, the lord of the Nine would instantly find him. But his instincts also screamed at him to flee and place as much distance between himself and the Witch-king as he could. He couldn't and wouldn't let the terrible apparition finish what he started.

Frodo's heart felt as if it was shuddering terribly. It was as if an icy, frigid hand was encircling around it slowly and steadily constricting it. He almost half expected it to stop beating and he would drop dead. The agony in his shoulder only grew more powerful and he knew he had to make a choice. He had to do something, anything…

It was too much for him. His mind was splintered and he surrendered to the Ring's insidious allure. Hastily, he slipped it onto his finger. As soon as he did that, he ran as quickly as his legs could take him. The jagged but coarse rocks dug into his feet yet Frodo paid it no mind. He only fled, not daring to look back at what he perceived was following him.

The land of Mordor somehow looked even more terrible in the twilight realm than it did with mortal eyes. Frodo ignored the ghostly landscapes and kept running, knowing that if he stopped, he would surely be beset upon and perish. Death was something he couldn't face. He wasn't ready to surrender to it.

A piercing shriek rang through the air mere moments after Frodo began his desperate flight. As soon as he heard that horrible scream, he knew he was found. Now he knew he was on borrowed time.

The Hobbit kept running, still reluctant and fearful to look back for even a second. His shoulder now felt as if the hottest flames were licking at it. If he hadn't been controlled by his baser instincts, Frodo would've collapsed from the sheer magnitude of that pain. The Morgul wound was indeed a curse and a burden but the injury was paltry compared to the clutches of the Ring.

He didn't see it but Frodo could sense the Ringwraith was closing in. He could feel him encroaching more and more…

At last, he looked over his shoulder to see where exactly his pursuer was. Frodo's jaw dropped as he saw a spectral object that almost looked to be like the very embodiment of the moon itself. The Wraith was still as terrifying and ghastly as when he first saw him over a year ago. He was a wispy, ghostly figure and the corrupted Man's long, nearly silvery hair gleamed in the darkness of the unseen world. The Nazgûl almost looked like a beacon of light as he chased Frodo down. His sword was drawn and his dark eyes had a dangerous glint to them. His face was deathly and macabre and his mouth was contorted into an unpleasant sneer.

"Covetous cretin, give it to me!" he commanded.

Even the voice of the Ring appeared to be mute to the Hobbit's ears in his hour of terror. It spoke to him but Frodo still ran. He had to get away, he had to evade capture. If he was seized, then he would end up like Gollum. He would also lose his precious…

While he continued to flee, he frighteningly saw it wouldn't be enough. His fearsome assailant was advancing and Frodo knew his end was most likely nigh. His eyes were wide and his jaw was still hanging. He had no weapon on him and he had no means to contest with this particular servant of Sauron. But he wouldn't surrender his treasure so easily just yet. He was filled with an animalistic desire to protect it.

Frodo stopped and knelt down. He picked up a rock and held it firmly in one of his trembling hands. He stared down the creature of the shadows and raised his hand to throw it at his pursuer.

The Witch-king would suffer this no longer. The Ring was within his grasp. He had been pursuing it ardently and numerous times it was almost acquired. This time, he was determined to capture it. It called to him and he found himself completely under its dominion. He heard it and he would obey it. He raised his sword and he swung it when he got close enough to his quarry.

Frodo released a great cry. Pain overcame him as he felt the cold and dreaded steel tear through flesh, sinew and bone. He watched in absolute terror as his poised, raised hand was sliced off just below his wrist. That hand had also bore the Ring and he was unveiled and visible to the physical world once more. The Hobbit fell to his side, clutching the profusely bleeding stump and unable to do much of anything else.

Satisfied, the Witch-king sheathed his blade. A smile was on his face as he relinquished the Halfling of his hand and was overcome by his agony. He would flee no more and his life was his. The lord of the Nine took a few steps closer to the disembodied hand. The Ring entreated him, beckoning him to claim it. Its evil voice spoke in his mind, commanding him to return it to its one, true master. He drew closer, feeling as if he was in a dense and numbing haze while it was luring him in more and more.

" _Excellent_!" To hear Sauron speak in such a jubilant tone was strange. It was obvious that he was pleased his Ring was about to be recovered at long last. " _Take it, Witch-king. Take it and bring it back to me. Do it. Do it right now! My victory and vengeance is at hand! Deliver it to me, my beloved servant_!"

He knelt down and gingerly picked up the hand. The wailing of the poisoned Halfling didn't even register to him. He pried the Ring off of the twitching finger that bore it. Then he dropped the hand and admired the treasure he had recovered.

The Witch-king was wholly invested in this simple and seemingly harmless, golden band. As he held it in his hand and looked it over, he could almost hardly believe for a moment that this thing was so powerful and coveted. A long time ago, he wouldn't have believed it was responsible for enslaving him. Regardless, he had finally found and seized that which was lost. He had fulfilled his duty and reaffirmed his position as the right hand of the Dark Lord.

The voices of Sauron and the Ring rang inside his head, entreating him to reunite them once more. He was spellbound and transfixed by this malicious allure. Involuntarily, his hand balled up, safely cradling the Ring in his fist. Obviously, they were hastening the process for him. His will was obsolete and theirs was overpowering and dominating his.

It then seemed as if the two voices were somehow becoming more unclear and distant. He thought it was very odd that those presences seemed to diminish. The insidious grip that the Ring had on him lessened. Now he was able to unclench his hand and his mind was no longer in a fog. Confusion cropped up in him and the Witch-king had absolutely no idea what was happening.

While their cries grew fainter, he could hear a new, third voice. It was barely audible but it grew louder with each second that went by. This voice was totally unfamiliar but this individual sounded far more calm and gentler than the voices of the Ring and Sauron. In fact, he felt at ease and didn't feel threatened in the least bit with this unexpected development.

" _What has been lost has finally been found._ "

He visibly flinched when the voice reached its loudest point. The presence of Sauron entirely dissipated inside his mind and momentarily, he almost forgot that he held the Ring. A new entity was now connected to him and he still had no idea whom this was. He assumed he would've felt startled and perhaps a little angry that he had been invaded like this. Instead, he felt nothing but tranquility and peace. He couldn't even recall the last time he experienced such sensations.

" _Who are you?_ " the Witch-king asked, more curious and amazed than irritated. " _Why have my master and his Ring become deaf to me?_ "

" _Ah, pay them no mind,_ " the newcomer said in a placid voice. " _I merely barred them from interfering for now. You see, I have wanted to talk to you for a very long time. Your mind has been clouded and marred for so long._ "

" _But who are you? I must know this! Are you one of the Valar? No other can do what you have done!_ "

" _You are of the Secondborn of my creations. I have many names but I am called The One._ "

The truth struck him like a bolt of lightning hitting a tree and igniting it. It suddenly dawned on the Witch-king and he was overcome with astonishment and wonder. In fact, he questioned his very sanity. For the briefest moment he thought this was some trick of his master's.

It simply couldn't be...

Never did he ever think that this would've ever occurred. It was humbling, frightening and fascinating all at the same time. He would've been terrified but he found himself mystified and overcome more than anything else.

Seconds later, he fell to his knees and bowed so lowly his helm touched the rocky and barren soil. He became increasingly petrified as the reality set in. He feared that the mighty creator was about to smite him. He suspected he was about to personally be punished by his maker and dissolved into nothingness for his crimes and allegiance to Sauron. Retribution was at hand and there was no escaping it.

" _The One..._ " the Witch-king gasped. " _I cannot be forgiven for what I have done, my maker! I have embraced and lurked in shadow for so long… My life is yours. Smite me so I may no longer be subjected to him._ "

" _Nay, my son,_ " the divine being requested. His voice was filled with kindness and patience. There was no inkling of wrath and retribution in it. " _I have found you at long last and I will not slay you. I would like a few words with you. Please, stand. There is no need for that._ "

He did exactly as Eru had requested. He still felt as if he was about to faint from the shock of being directly contacted by him but he managed to regain control on himself. The fear in him dissipated, still being soothed by the serenity the new presence exuded. This was far more different and much more welcome than Sauron's oppressive countenance.

" _What do you seek of me, my maker?_ " he implored.

" _I am only happy to have found one of my children after so long,_ " Eru explained. " _You have been long overdue for the Halls, my son. But I shall not scold you for that._ "

" _Forgive me, Highest of Lords, everything that has befallen me is my own fault. I was blind and foolish._ "

" _I know your heart, your mind and your soul. I know you took that trinket you were gifted with good intentions. You succumbed to it eventually and you fell into shadow and villainy. You resisted the pull but in the end, he broke you and you submitted to him. I know that despite everything that has happened, despite that evil fog that surrounds and permeates you, you are virtuous at your core. I know this to be true. You may not think that but you are. In fact, many of your comrades are the same. Some took their rings with noble intentions as well and were poisoned just like you._ "

The aura of peace and mercy never waned. He continued to feel appeased and at ease for as long as Eru maintained this connection to him. Sauron and the Ring almost felt as if they no longer existed anymore so long as this persisted. Truly, he wished that this would last forever.

" _I know what I have done as you know too, Father_ ," the Witch-king said. " _You have granted me mercy and I am grateful and humbled by your love_."

" _Do not fret over what you have done,"_ Eru soothed him. _"I have reached out to you because there is no other that can do this task. You must trust me when I say these things. There can be no other Ringbearers. This young Hobbit was seduced by the Ring and it enraptured him. There is simply no way he could fulfill his task once he gave in to it. I am glad that I was also able to resound within you, my son. I was able to do so because your true self had been warring with the darkness in you. I was able to reach out to you once I could feel your resurgences were becoming powerful_." Eru laughed gently. " _You have her to thank for that_."

The Witch-king could only remain silent as he recalled. He still missed you terribly and it hurt to remember when he let you go. A few days had passed since your departure and he continued to dwell on it. It pained him but it was a necessary loss. You were farther from Sauron and his servants and he was pleased. It was a sacrifice he make again if he was forced to. His protection and love wouldn't ever be enough... 

" _You are now shouldering a monumental and vital choice,_ " the Creator resumed. " _This is entirely in your hands. The fate of Middle Earth rests upon what you decide, my son._ "

" _But, my lord,_ " the Wraith said, sounding unsure and even a little fearful. " _I have no choice… The moment that you sever your connection with me, he will fill my mind again. This cursed Ring will hound me and haunt me, commanding me to return it to its master. I am bound to the Dark Lord and I cannot hope to refuse._ "

" _You are mistaken, my son. When I release you, you will find yourself with a truly free will. You will not hear the voice of the Ring or your master. They will not be able to communicate or influence you. It is within my power and I can easily suppress it. I will cleanse you of your master's influence and your mind will be your own once more. You will be the man you once were_."

This was all simply unbelievable to the Witch-king. He yearned to speak more with him but he was so speechless, he didn't know how else to proceed. He was merely in awe over what Eru spoke of. The Wraith was unsure what it would even feel like to have his being freed from Sauron's influence. It was what had guided and controlled him for so long…

" _Whether you choose to take the Ring back to him, keep it for yourself or destroy it is entirely your will_ ," Eru said. " _You will be free to decide what you wish and no one else can steer you. Time is of the essence, my son and you must make your choice. However, remember that all actions naturally have consequences. You must choose what you think is right and I will not interfere in the slightest. Do you understand?_ "

It was overwhelming to the Nazgûl. Suddenly, this titanic responsibility was on him and he appeared to become the new Ringbearer. This was something he never could've foreseen or imagined in his wildest dreams. It was too much for him but he refused to buckle or seem like a frightened child before the eyes of the Creator.

" _I know you are angry, frightened and confused by all of this_ ," Eru spoke kindly to him. " _Heed to what sounds best to you. Listen to what your heart tells you and obey it. I know you will make the right choice, my child. Now, I must depart. Farewell_."

The Witch-king tried to reach out to Eru as he felt him leaving him. The warmth and comfort the almighty being displayed was disappearing rapidly and he tried in vain to stop him. Before he knew it, he found himself standing amidst the sweltering, dry air and the baking rocks of Mordor. He was alone, forced to make this ultimate choice on his own.

He stood silently, noticing already that he felt vastly different in comparison to moments before Eru showed himself. Gone was the overbearing, constant, dark presence of Sauron. He could no longer feel the link that bound him to the Dark Lord. The Ring had fallen silent and he could no longer hear it calling him incessantly. Clarity and clearness reigned in his mind and he felt weightless and unshackled. The veil had been lifted and he felt lighter than the air itself.

The Creator was telling the truth. He had negated the influence, allowing him to ponder and help him make his choice. As unbelievable as it was, it was the truth. To him, it was a wondrous miracle.

In the midst of all this, he had forgotten all about Frodo's presence and was only reminded of it when he heard the pained whimpers coming from the young Hobbit's curled up shape. The Witch-king looked over to his direction, seeing that his blue eyes were pinned on his shrouded shape. Frodo's stare was intense and fearful and he looked like a hunted animal.

The Halfling had lost himself to the power of the Ring only a year ago and the Witch-king could see and feel some changes within him. He seemed feral and vicious when he confronted Frodo but now that he was laying upon the ground and still bleeding copiously from his wound, he seemed changed. He looked like the same Hobbit who had writhed with agony when he had stabbed him on Weathertop not too long ago. No longer did he seem to be a precursor to Gollum.

It did not take the Witch-king long at all to make his choice. He wouldn't change his course or back down. His mind was made and he was determined to see it through no matter the cost.

"Frodo Baggins of the Shire," he addressed him.

Frodo said nothing, only staring back at the Witch-king. He was still constricted by terror and pain. The Hobbit hardly even blinked, afraid to even do that for fear he would be stabbed through his heart by a Morgul blade.

"You will die if you languish here," he explained. "I will take you to safety but you cannot follow me after that. There will be no returning for me where I will be journeying."

He extended his armored hand to Frodo and grasped his remaining hand, hoisting him up onto his feet.


	16. The Heart of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lost son of Númenor comes forth after spending many millennia in the shadows.

Chapter 16 The Heart of a Man

(…)

Your jaw dropped further with each second that went by. Slowly, your hand crept up to where your heart laid in your chest. Again, you tried to focus, feeling that maybe something was out of place. Something was terribly wrong and you couldn't deny it. Perhaps you were hallucinating, perhaps you were merely dreaming and you didn't even realize it…

It happened so suddenly. It also felt too much like the time when you and the Witch-king were first bound to one another. This pain was sharp like it but it was far briefer. This time, it hardly lasted. It was far more painful to bind than to unwind the link.

" _Where have you gone?_ "

The bond was severed. No longer could you feel the other side of your link. You could no longer share and read your shared emotions. You could no longer feel his all too familiar and unmistakable presence. It was as if it had simply melted from existence. It was as if he had disappeared as well.

The fact that you couldn't sense him frightened you. You hadn't been particularly honing in on him for the past day. Gandalf had been encouraging you to not dwell on your consort or think about him. As difficult as that was to do, you managed to do it somewhat. You didn't dwell on him or try to sense him lately. But this disruption immediately caught your attention. This was something you couldn't ignore even if you wanted to do so.

" _Can you hear me? Can you feel me?_ "

You were crying out to him in your mind. In your heart, you knew this was a vain effort but you were panicking. You were beginning to assume the worst. You suspected that maybe Sauron had either killed him or dissolved the bond that interwove your souls with one another. The lack of knowledge only frightened you further. You needed to know if he was still alive or if he was truly gone.

Earlier, it was ironic how you wanted this bond to be destroyed. You wanted it undone so you could no longer sense him. Now that it was finally eliminated, you were terrified. Now you regretted it and you missed his presence. You had grown accustomed to it over the past year and now that it was gone, you felt vulnerable. It felt as if a piece of you had been stripped away.

But first, you needed to find the one who would have a better idea than you on what happened. You had to try to calm yourself down and proceed from there. Being overcome and exhausted would only fare to make your condition worse. It would simply do you no good if you allowed it to compound. The less stress you subjected yourself to, the better off you would be.

You exited the privacy of your room, nearly half racing and half stumbling out into the corridor. Luckily, it was empty and you hadn't clumsily rammed into any passerby. Inwardly, you cursed to yourself, disbelieving that this had come to pass.

Not even your brother and sister were nearby. You stayed behind in your quarters while your siblings and Aragorn's company were seeing off the three brave Hobbits who would venture into Mordor. You opted to stay behind on Gandalf's advice. He reasoned that you were still susceptible so long as the link survived. But since it was terminated, you reasoned there was no harm in hurrying to them and seeking them out.

Not only that, your shame still had an iron grip on you. You couldn't bring yourself to socialize with anyone. The Wizard encouraged you to not demonize and punish yourself but you couldn't help it. The one you loved was still a reviled enemy. Thousands of years of villainy and wickedness couldn't simply be pardoned so haphazardly. At least, that was what you reasoned in your mind. Even though Gandalf informed them of the circumstances, they were still suspicious, shocked and even unsure.

Through the kingly corridors you fled, making your way to the courtyard. You hoped a spare horse would be in the stable so you could use it and make your way to the gates. A little over an hour had passed since the company had left the halls to see off the Hobbits so you hoped they hadn't ventured too far. You weren't even sure if they were going to accompany the trio for a short while or see them off from the gates. You had requested that no one tell you anything about this quest and now you regretted such a thing.

"My lady!"

You nearly tripped over your own feet but you managed to halt in your tracks as soon as you heard the voice. You looked to your left, catching sight of one of the citadel guards. His nose was wrinkled, belying his confusion and concern upon seeing you rush along with such urgency.

"Please, tell me there is a spare horse!" you breathed. Your face was flushed red and panic was evident in your eyes. "I must go to the gates and see if Gandalf is there!"

"Aye, there is," the guard said, sounding a bit surprised. "Is everything alright, my lady?"

"No, I must see him as quickly as possible!"

"Of course, follow me. Allow me to ready the mount for you."

(…)

Only a few minutes later, the sound of hooves pounding on stone filled your ears. You paid it no mind and drove your horse on, trying to move as quickly as you could through the streets of Minas Tirith. Although you were desperate to get to the gates, you somehow managed to weave your steed through the narrow pathways, dodging objects and persons in your path. If you weren't so pressed for time and stressed, you would've taken a moment to appreciate your horsemanship.

You were fevered and fearful but intensely focused at the same time. You urged your horse onwards, trusting it to get you to your destination in enough time. You spoke to it gently yet firmly, not wanting to push it too much or risk hurting it in your desperation.

While you raced through the streets, numerous people turned their gaze to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a mixture of annoyed, angered, curious and vexed stares. You hardly paid them a second thought, instead choosing to focus on the dire situation that was at hand. You were far more concerned about facing the wrathful ire of Sauron than some street vendor whose cart was too close to your passing horse.

Nearly a week earlier, you were ascending through the tiers of the White City. Now you were descending. The distant rumbling of the conflagration in Mordor hardly went noticed to you. Another type of fear filled you aside from the looming menace of the Black Land.

It felt like a few thousand years had passed but in reality, it was some minutes. Finally, you found yourself at the ground level and you could see the partially opened gates ahead. The fact that they were slightly ajar encouraged you and through the throng of busy passerby and dutiful soldiers, you could see a few familiar figures.

You finally dismounted from your horse when you were within walking distance of the company. You could see the backs of Angwen and Venarion's heads. Fueled by adrenaline, you raced over to their position.

The clomping of your horse's hooves already alerted some of the company of your arrival and some turned to face you. Amongst them, you couldn't see the three Hobbits. You were actually grateful that they were gone. You were hoping that they had just departed to begin their journey into Mordor.

"Gandalf!" you cried. "I need to speak to Gandalf!"

Upon hearing your voice, your brother and sister finally turned around. They were caught off guard by your sudden appearance and were stunned into silence. Confusion was etched into their faces and they remained unresponsive for a few seconds.

"What troubles you, Sister?" Angwen pressed, her surprise being usurped by anxiety upon seeing your distress. "Why have you come down?"

"It's gone," you said, lowering your voice. You only wanted this matter to be heard by the members of the company and your family members. "I can't feel him anymore. Something is terribly amiss!"

Out of the Fellowship, only Gandalf, Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas were present now. Their eyes were on you before you knew it as well. You could tell that they were startled by your unannounced inclusion. The Wizard instantly stepped forward when he heard you say you needed to see him. He wouldn't dare to delay and he knew that the link could be used against them if used to its full potential.

"It's gone?" he repeated, wanting to make sure he heard you right. "How?"

"Take my hand and you will know," you said. You extended your hand out to him, coercing him to do it. "I cannot explain it and I need you to confirm this, sir."

Without delay, he did exactly that. He grasped onto your offered hand and held it in his. Gandalf focused, trying to tap into the bond and see for himself what you spoke of.

Almost instantly, he could sense the marked difference. There was absolutely nothing there. It was as if the bond hadn't even existed. He couldn't sense the Witch-king through you. He couldn't even read the Nazgûl's emotions and location from afar. As strange as it was, you were unblemished and free.

Gandalf instantly understood and felt what you meant. He released your hand, a bit astonished that this had truly happened.

"It has been destroyed," he confirmed.

"How could this have happened?" you demanded. "Was he killed?"

"It's possible."

You felt sick to your stomach as soon as he said those words. You thought you were going to expel your breakfast at any moment. While you wanted him to be freed, you also fretted over him. You knew death would be his only release but you shuddered to think how he perished and how terrible it might've been. If he was indeed killed, you had a sinking feeling Sauron had a hand in it. It made perfect sense to you. Even thinking about such a thing made you even more restless and tormented.

"Can there be any other explanation for this?" you nearly begged him.

"That bond sealed the both of you," the old man said. "Even if the Witch-king himself wanted to break it, he couldn't. It was a binding magic that was beyond even his power. Only a stronger being or the one who cast the spell could undo it. You said that during that ceremony, Sauron sent one of his lieutenants to officiate it. I find it probable that the Dark Lord entrusted that individual some of his terrible might to cast that bond in his stead."

"I suppose. The one I saw was one of his servants, some Black Númenorean emissary. There was also no way he could be stronger than the Witch-king unless if Sauron gave him some of his power. I also find it extremely unlikely it was Sauron himself in some disguise."

"If that is the case, if the Witch-king is not dead, then Sauron himself has dissolved your bond. Those are the only two possible outcomes."

"This is most troubling," Legolas said. "If he is alive, we must wonder why Sauron destroyed it. Perhaps he means to organize an assault on us?"

"I suppose it makes perfect sense," Gimli acknowledged. "If we have been keeping watch on the bride to make sure the Witch-king doesn't pry into her mind, then maybe Sauron destroyed it so that she doesn't try to do the same?"

"We simply don't know," Gandalf replied grimly. "But regardless, this is a troubling development."

"No matter what happens, Sam, Merry and Pippin must continue making their way to Mordor," said Aragorn. "Faramir will take them as far as he can go into Ithilien and after that, they must go on their own. They have left and they're determined to see this through to the bitter end."

"If this is indeed a move made by Sauron and if he is about to attack, we must send word to Rohan," Legolas said. "Ếomer returned to his kingdom some months back to refortify and gather more men."

"We may need to summon him. We may need his help. If Ếowyn has fully recovered from her wounds, she may rule from Meduseld and safeguard the realm in his leave."

"It would not be wise to leave anything up to chance and do nothing," Gandalf nodded slowly. "Someone must ride out and request the Rohirrim and their new king to come to Minas Tirith."

"I shall volunteer." The son of Thranduil straightened his posture. He was fully prepared and ready to do such a duty. "I will ride to Rohan."

"And you won't be going alone, princeling," Gimli snorted. "During these times, it is foolish to ride out on your lonesome."

"Then it has been settled," Aragorn said. "You two will ride out to meet Ếomer. Gandalf and I will remain in Minas Tirith if in the event something should come our way from the East."

The Elf and the Dwarf nodded and hurried off to prepare for their journey to Rohan.

"The defense of this city is in our hands now," Gandalf noted.

His tone sounded a little distant. He recollected the Battle of the Pelennor Fields a year prior. The carnage, death and wanton destruction was great and the realm was still recovering from the ordeal. It seemed to him that it was possible another battle like that one was forming on the horizon. The rumors of Angmar being reestablished also dwelled on his mind and filled him with dread. His prognosis of the future was turning bleaker but he dared not to voice it out loud. The Wizard also refused to believe this would come to pass. He would do all in his power to prevent the dominion of evil.

"What shall we do?" Venarion asked his family members. "What can we do?"

"I don't know," you said, shaking your head. You increasingly began to feel numb. Too much was happening and you were becoming worried even more so than you already were. "I wish I knew."

"If this bond truly has been dispelled, then you do not need further monitoring," said Gandalf. "For your own safety, you ought to leave."

Angwen was compelled to stand and fight. That was her first and foremost reaction. She was more than ready and willing to challenge the armies of Sauron. She hadn't forgotten that her family had been slaughtered by Orcs and her distaste for those creatures was still powerful. She would've enjoyed nothing more than avenging her fallen siblings, parents and grandfather by slaying many of their number.

But the young maiden was also driven to remain with her remaining kin. There was no way she could part from them yet again. They were all she had and she was certain her offer of staying and helping to defend Gondor would've been refused. She was taught some warrior craft by her grandfather but she was no trained soldier as much as she liked to view herself as one. She would not leave you to care for Venarion on your own and she would not forsake either of you.

"If that is what you think is necessary, we will do so," you said.

"If you go West towards your home, warn those of the coming storm from the East," Aragorn said. "Tell them of what has happened here. Tell them to be ready to fight once more. But you must also be careful. There is unrest and peril there as well."

"Thank you, we will do so. Thank you for your hospitality as well. You have been kind to us and we are grateful."

"It is best that you go as quickly as possible, grandchildren of Aldahir. You have only been freed from the clutches of the Enemy a few days earlier. It would be most unfortunate if you ended up in their hands yet again."

You couldn't agree more.

(twilight)

Belongings were gathered and packed. Provisions were acquired and stored. The horses were saddled up and were being ridden down the streets of Minas Tirith. Hearts were glad but worried. Minds were clear but marred.

Some hours earlier, you had taken the same route but it was for an entirely different purpose. Now you rode out with the intent to leave. It was possible you might never return to this city again. You liked to think that you might return to it one day when your life was happier. But you wondered if that would ever be the case.

Again, you would ride out with your family. Earlier, you had left Minas Tirith's fallen twin in the East. Now you were leaving this one as well. You hoped this was the last stop before you would make it home. More than ever, you wanted to depart and not look back. You didn't dare to do so.

Angwen and Venarion were quietly riding beside you. They were silent as they took in the sights of the ancient city, hoping that this citadel would indeed hold and last against the forces of the Enemy yet again. Dearly, they hoped they could return and revisit it in the future. They hoped this wouldn't be the last time they would be in its midst. As much as they admired this place and yearned to bask in it more, they knew they couldn't linger anymore. They had to flee and be on their way. The West called to them and they wouldn't ignore the call especially if they were finally given permission to go.

You easily noticed there were a larger number of soldiers out and about now. They were hustling around you and your kin, hurrying off to make preparations or finish some other business. It was a sign to you that their commanders had likely given the order to brace for a possible move by the Dark Lord. You could sense the urgency and tenseness in the air. It was all too obvious to you.

The three of you didn't say anything to one another. Each of you knew what was on the others' minds. Each of you was weary, scared and anxious. You were determined to make your way home. You wished there was still a house there. You only hoped you would find peace and somehow the Shadow in the East would be forever dispelled by the efforts of the brave and selfless Hobbits.

You were coming upon the gates. The torches were lit and even in the dim of twilight, you could see Gandalf's white robes. Beside him was the figure of the Chieftain of your folk. The two guardians of the White City were engaged in some conversation you couldn't hear. But you cared not what they had to say. It was the least of your concerns anymore.

You slowed your horse to a halt and Angwen and Venarion urged theirs to do the same.

"We must bid farewell to them," you said. "They have treated us kindly and not tossed us into a dungeon. They have been gracious and hospitable hosts to us."

A slow, deep sigh came from you. You gazed up at them as they stood atop the wall. They were overlooking it, their gazes turned to the ominous, perpetual glow of Mordor. As much as you wanted to leave and not have to speak to anyone else, you knew it was only proper. You would do this and then depart…

Then something arrested your attention quite suddenly. A cry rang out in the waning light of the dying day. It was the voice of a man and it was loud and clear. He stood on the balcony of a nearby watchtower and he uttered a single word. By far, it was one of the most dreadful words one could scream in the city of Minas Tirith. It was a word that made brave men's hearts shudder and made the weak flee in vain abandon.

"Nazgûl!"

Again, he said that word. Panic rose up and all who heard it turned their heads to the sky. They could hardly see anything amidst the darkening sky. Stars started to pock it and it was becoming difficult to pick out a black spot amidst it. Their voices started to become louder and the terror was all too easy to pick out.

Indeed, the watchman was correct. A winged Wraith was coming out of the direction of the East. It was making its way straight for the city. It was making great speed and it was closing in rapidly.

Upon hearing that word being shouted into the coolness of the dusk, you were starting to feel apprehensive and fearful. You had no idea how you might've not caught wind of this if this was indeed an attack. But then you reasoned to yourself that if this was an assault, word would've been reached by now and the city would've been far more prepared for the coming storm.

"There is only one!" the watcher yelled.

Riding out now would've been foolish and suicidal. There was no way you would do such a thing. Your horses wouldn't be able to outrun the swiftness of the fell beasts that bore their dark masters. You would be beset upon and dispatched all too easily. For now, you had to remain in Minas Tirith.

Archers readied themselves, ready to shoot down the Wraith and prepare for the worst. Even though there was only one Nazgûl, they wouldn't underestimate this threat and they would be ready to deal with it. While some of them trembled, they steeled their hearts, indeed comforted that there only appeared to be one Sauron's servants. It was very strange but they would still deal with this invader.

As the Nazgûl drew closer, its winged mount slowed. The defenders of the city still kept their bows trained on the approaching threat. At any moment, they were ready to fire whenever their commanders deemed it wise. It continued to fly closer, still slowing down, almost looking as if it was acting cautious.

When it was about a thousand feet from the gates, it finally alighted on the ground. The Black Rider remained atop its monstrous mount, and coerced it forward. The fell beast crawled closer to the gates, edging forwards. Bows and even catapults were ready to be unleashed upon him at any moment.

Gandalf was completely unsure what to think. He was terribly confused and perplexed by what he saw unfold before his very eyes. It was almost like a scene from a fevered and ridiculous dream. There seemed to be absolutely no rhyme or reason to this. It was all madness to him. What was strangest of all was that this Nazgûl had come alone. He could see none of the other Nine on the horizon nor could he sense any darkness creeping in from the shadowing landscape outside the city.

The great and dark form of the fell beast continued to come forward. When it was merely two hundred feet from the gates, it stopped. The creature perched just outside the walls and it gurgled quietly. It was resting and seemed to be under control and calm. The animal stretched its wings out, beating them briefly and then settling once more.

The surprises kept coming when the robed, hooded figure dismounted from the winged creature. He then took a few steps away from it, coming closer to the gates. After taking those steps, he stopped and he tilted his darkened helm towards the top of the wall. There was something or someone in the arms of the Wraith and no one could identify what it was exactly. It only deepened their curiosity but their conditioned fear remained in them.

There was a great clamor as the many archers and soldiers stood along the wall were poised to attack the sole figure of the Nazgûl that stood patiently outside of the gates. Their spears were clenched and their bows were drawn. All of them merely awaited the word of their commanders. They hesitated to even breathe or blink, for fear this creature would unleash some unspeakable evil upon them.

"What trickery is this?" Aragorn whispered to Gandalf. The disbelief and astonishment in his voice was strong. "I do not like this."

Carefully, Gandalf leaned over the wall, wanting to get a better look at the waiting Nazgûl. As he looked closer, he easily picked out what he thought was the figure of a smaller person in his arms. His heart trembled in disbelief and dread. As much as he wanted to leap forth and seize the captive, he didn't want to act too rashly. This was a precarious scenario and he didn't want to be too hasty.

"Do not attack!" Gandalf ordered the men. "Do not let a single arrow fly! Stay yourselves, Men of Gondor. Wait!" Then he turned his attention to the Wraith who stood in the field. "Whatever is the servant of Enemy doing here on his lonesome? What sort of errand is this? Speak!"

"White Wizard," the Witch-king addressed, "I have an important errand that needs completed. But before it is done, I must deliver this soul to you."

Gandalf was astonished. He could feel that this was indeed the lord of the Nine. He could sense his power and countenance but there was also something markedly different about him. Namely, he couldn't sense the presence of Sauron resonating and permeating his shape. He almost didn't feel as dependent. He also didn't appear to wield the aura of terror and dread the Witch-king usually emanated. This was indeed him but at the same time, it wasn't.

"May I treat with you personally?" he pressed. "He needs aid immediately and he may bleed out. He lost his hand."

"Mithrandir, it is a trap!" one of the soldiers debated. "Do not listen to him! He is attempting to bewitch us! Do not let him speak more or he will lay a curse upon all of Minas Tirith!"

"No," Gandalf said, attempting to placate the riled up and clearly concerned soldiers. "Allow me to go and treat with him. He has asked for me and I will heed him."

"At least take an escort with you, sir!"

"That is unnecessary. I sense this visit isn't one wrought of ill will and malevolence. This matter is vital and dire and I mustn't delay any longer."

The soldiers had no idea what to make of this unfolding scene. It was all too unusual and unexpected. They were prepared to attack and now one of their commanders was ordering them to stand down. None of it made sense. Gandalf had urged patience and stillness but they would keep their weapons trained on the terrible Black Captain. They wouldn't stand for it if this was all a great deceit about to be sprung upon them.

Gandalf hurried down the ramparts of the wall, making his way to the gate. He hurried along, tightly clutching his staff. He had so many questions for the Ringwraith and he couldn't ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Gandalf!"

The White Wizard could hear Aragorn approaching him. Gandalf kept walking to the gate, not wanting to delay the Witch-king any longer than necessary. This was an errand that needed to be seen to with much importance.

"Gandalf, let me go with you!" the Heir of Isildur pleaded. "It is not right for you to go out alone like this!"

"I can hold my own against him if this should prove to be a masquerade of some sort," Gandalf retorted. "There is something off about him and all is not as it seems."

"But how can that be? The lord of the Nazgûl is at our very gates! It was he who destroyed them a year before!"

"Patience, my friend. There is someone in his grasp and I fear it is a long lost friend of ours. If this is true, we cannot hope to offend him or miss this chance. He is also wounded and we must give him medical attention immediately."

"Then I will go with you. I will not let you go alone to see him."

"Very well, Aragorn. I will not argue with you further."

Once the duo reached the bottom of the stairs, Gandalf spotted you. He stopped in his tracks and he wouldn't look away. His face was grim.

"He is alive," he told you. "He is here."

You already heard his voice amidst the uneasy silence. However, you were unable to believe that this was the case. You almost thought this was a trick of some sort. He couldn't be outside of the gates and requesting an audience. It was so bizarre and you couldn't wrap your head around this conundrum. It was unthinkable.

"There is something different about him, I can feel it," the Wizard continued. "I can no longer feel the taint of Sauron on him. Regardless, I do not know what to make of this. I urge you to remain inside and allow me to treat with him."

You could find no words. All you found yourself doing was nodding wordlessly at him. It was so strange and you hesitated to see him again. You feared that seeing him would make you miss him that much more. It would do more harm than good. It would only serve to break your heart further.

Those who stood at the gates were quite reluctant to open them. They thought this reeked of treachery and villainy but they wouldn't obstruct the Wizard and their future king. They wouldn't disobey them. As quickly as they could, they unlocked the hefty, ancient gates.

Gandalf and Aragorn held their ground as the ponderous doors parted. The tall and dark figure of the Witch-king stood ahead, patient and unmoving. He still held the being in his arms. The person wasn't moving and as the pair looked harder and closer, they could see blood staining their clothes. It appeared to them that the Nazgûl was honest so far. There was someone in need of medical attention.

Once the doors were parted enough that the duo could walk out, they did so. They stood side by side, making their way to the lord of the Nazgûl. The cloaked figure continued to stand his ground, ever patient and silent as he waited.

Aragorn's eyes were pinned on the Witch-king's shape. Anduril was at his side and he was not afraid to use the ancient and hallowed blade if need be. However, he did notice that the aura of menace and despair the Wraith typically put off was entirely gone. It felt extremely strange and he had no idea what to make of this. It was indeed the Witch-king who was standing before him but it also didn't feel like him simultaneously. This was beyond his understanding.

At last, they stopped before the Nazgûl. They could see that the figure was small, very akin to the size of Merry, Pippin and Sam. They gazed upon the weathered, weary face of the unconscious figure, seeing that it was indeed Frodo.

"What have you done to him?!" Aragorn demanded, his eyes wide and shock evident in his voice. His hand was on the hilt of his blade and he was poised to draw it at any moment.

"Be still, my friend!" Gandalf interceded. "At ease!"

"Aragorn."

It felt all too surreal to the Heir. For so long, he had been hunted by the servants of the Dark Lord and now the greatest of them was standing before him and speaking with him personally. For all his life, they were his enemies. Now, there was no barrier between them. The Wraith's voice was calm and level. He certainly didn't feel like a threat.

"He gave me no choice," he explained. "He wouldn't listen to reason so I had to do what was necessary. The Ring consumed his mind and he wouldn't relinquish it freely."

He extended his arms out, offering Frodo's limp shape to Aragorn. Aragorn hastily took the unconscious Hobbit and cradled him to his chest. He could hardly believe Frodo had been delivered to him and it took him no time at all to realize his hand was missing. All of this was happening too swiftly for his taste and he was at a loss as to how to rationalize it all.

"Why have you come?" Gandalf questioned. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It is a strange tale and you might not believe me," the Witch-king retorted. "I will not blame you if…"

A realization then dawned on Aragorn. His eyes widened and he almost turned as pale as freshly fallen snow.

"Where is the Ring?" Aragorn demanded. "He had it on him! Where is it?!"

The hooded being turned to him, giving him his undivided attention. Aragorn wished he could gaze into the eyes of this being and try to fish out any hints of deceit or treachery.

"It is safe," he answered. "But most importantly, it will be destroyed as soon as I depart from your city's doorstep."

Those weren't words the duo was prepared to hear with their own ears. Both were flabbergasted and wondered if they even heard him correctly. Yet that very much was the case. His tone was serious and sure. They couldn't pick out a lie.

"I had to take it from him," he said. "I was granted clarity and the veil that clouded my vision for so long was pulled back. I know what I must do and I won't let this persist another moment longer. It would be a travesty if I did nothing with the opportunity I had been given. But I resolved to take the Ringbearer and bring him to you. I could not leave him to die in the wastelands of Mordor."

"But how can this be?" Aragorn asked. "You are bound to Sauron and the Ring! You have no freedom, you have no free will! It was forfeit long ago. How are you able to do this on your own accord? None of this makes sense! This must be some sort of trickery of your master's."

There was only one logical conclusion that Gandalf had come to. It was wild and extremely shocking but it was the most reasonable one at the same time. The Witch-king had been freed. Someone far more powerful than Sauron had done the deed. In Gandalf's eyes, there was only one who was responsible for this twist of fate. The Wraith had been blessed and gifted his old persona back. He had been anointed. The light of The One had banished the stain of Sauron.

He too had been in the company of The One. When he fell into fire and shadow and used the last of his strength to slay Durin's Bane, he passed. But he was sent back to continue his quest and was blessed by his creator. Because he had been in the midst of Eru, he understood what the Witch-king had gone through the same. In this manner, they were kindred spirits. It suddenly made perfect sense to Gandalf.

Although he thought it was very odd and unexpected, he wouldn't question the will and workings of Eru Ilúvatar. He saw something in the Witch-king and he sought to utilize it. He took mercy and pity on the corrupted Man and gave him a chance to right the wrongs of thousands of years. It was his will and Gandalf knew he wouldn't ever understand it. Not even the Valar did.

"Aragorn," Gandalf said. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "There is something occurring beyond our understanding. I believe this is the work of someone far beyond my own power." He faced the Witch-king again. "That would explain how you feel different and how you are able to function as yourself once more. I do not smell the filth of Sauron upon you anymore." The Wizard allowed a small smile to grace his face. "You were given a mighty gift. He has spoken to you."

The Witch-king merely nodded, confirming the Maiar's theory. It seemed to him that Gandalf might've known what happened and he would leave it that. He wouldn't chat or elaborate over the matter however. He didn't want to remain in Gondor longer than what was necessary.

"If you do not mind, I must take my leave," he said. "Sauron surely suspects something is wrong for I cannot hear him anymore. Our connection has been shuttered. I must make haste and destroy this accursed thing before it causes any more death and destruction."

He caught sight of some movement by the gate. His darkened helm peered towards the direction, looking past Aragorn and Gandalf.

As soon as he did that, he felt his heart breaking. All too easily he picked out your familiar face. His unseen stare locked onto you and he couldn't look away.

Even before he could feel that his link had been dissolved, he knew you were in Minas Tirith. He was intrigued but at the same time he was relieved. He knew that you would be safe and it pleased him to know you had made it this far unhurt. When he couldn't sense you anymore, he was fearful. But he knew it was destroyed because that bond was wrought from the magic of Sauron. When the Creator intervened, it was undone. He only trusted that you were alive and well and he was happy to see that was the case.

But now that he saw you staring back at him from afar, he was hesitating. He yearned to bid you farewell for the final time. But he knew he couldn't wait any more. And he feared that if he held you in his arms again, he would never let go. It would be too painful. Every moment was precious and he knew that he was being sought.

It caused him great pain but he finally turned away from you. His hands balled up into fists and he remembered his courage and strength. Then he began to walk back to his fell beast, readying himself to undertake the final part of his mission. He was not afraid and he wouldn't deviate from his choice. It was final.

"Wait, lord," Gandalf called out. The Witch-king turned, meeting Gandalf's gaze yet again. "Do not be afraid. There is hope and mercy."

"I am tired, Gandalf," he said. "I am weary and I would like to die at last. My time has long been spent and I won't delay it further." The Wraith then turned to Aragorn. Words suddenly came to his mind. "Son of Númenor."

Aragorn stared back at him, still trying to make sense of what was happening. It was madness and he wasn't sure what to make of it all. All he could do was look at him, allowing him to continue.

For so long, he had viewed the Nazgûl as mortal foes. They were the most trusted and deadly of all of Sauron's servants. They were bound to the Dark Lord and his will was theirs. He ruled their thoughts and influenced them. They were supposed to be faithful and unwavering to him. They were supposed to retrieve the Ring and bring it to him, not be eager to destroy it and intentionally disobey him.

As strange as it was, in Aragorn's eyes, the Witch-king no longer seemed like the Witch-king. No longer did he appear to be an agent of death and darkness. Now the king of the Ringwraiths stood before him as any other Man. He appeared before him as a most unexpected ally.

"This is the city of Númenor's descendants," the robed being said. "You ought to be proud of such a beautiful, noble and worthy thing. I want you to know that I once hailed from the land beneath the waves. I lived there long ago and now that the shadows have been dispelled from my mind, I regret not being able to admire this place and appreciate the nostalgia and grandeur. It is a beautiful mirror of that sunken glory." He cocked his head to the side subtly, his gaze slightly focusing on the Ranger. "Perhaps we are of distant kin as well, Aragorn. I know not for sure for my memory is still elusive. It is still addled and incomplete. And I also apologize for what I had done to Arnor. It is ruined but I am certain you will revive and restore it to its former, untarnished state. I wish you all the luck with ruling this kingdom. I foresee that your reign will be as prosperous and peaceful as Númenor's earliest days." The Witch-king bowed his head to him, showing his respect. "I give you my blessing, from one king to another."

Aragorn was speechless. He nearly dropped Frodo's unconscious form but renewed his grip on him. He merely stood in place, wanting to say something before this being who was once his sworn enemy. Desperately, he wanted to reply but he had no idea what to say. Language itself seemed to be a foreign concept to him at that moment.

At the start of this, he perceived him to be trickster and a threat. Now he viewed him as a fellow Man. It was remarkable but it was the truth and he could deny it no longer. The truth shone brightly before him and he was convinced that the Witch-king was no longer a vassal of the Dark Lord. As it sunk in, he suddenly felt more and more humbled.

No one ever knew the full and true identities of the Nazgûl or their past lives. Aragorn had heard tales and claims that aside from one of them being Khamûl the Black Easterling, three of them were rumored to be lords of Númenor. If the Witch-king had indeed hailed from that nation, it made perfect sense to him. And if he was the mightiest of the Nazgûl, it was probably possible he might've been a member of the line of Elros. Perhaps Aragorn was distant kin with him after all. But who he was exactly was something only the higher powers themselves knew…

"Go forth and regain your honor, lord," Aragorn said at last. Finally, he found himself able to speak after a few moments of stunned silence. He bowed his head to him. "You have broken a dreadful bond that I initially perceived could never be shattered. I am still shaken by all of this but I know in my heart that your intentions and words are true. If I am standing before an ancient lord of Númenor, I am honored and humbled. Isildur was my ancestor and if your words are true, he may be your kin as he is mine. You must correct his folly."

"I shall," he said. "May the Tree bloom for you, King of Gondor. Farewell."

Now there were no more words to be said. He had to fly with all speed back to Mordor. He had to complete his task and undo all that had been wrought over the ages. There were no exceptions…

He mounted his fell beast and bade it to rise up and fly eastwards. He gripped its reins and spurred it onwards.

Aragorn and Gandalf weren't prepared for the three horses that raced past them as the Witch-king resumed his quest. They made no move or effort to try to stop them from following the Nazgûl. They wouldn't hinder you from trying to see him one last time.

"Now we must intercept Faramir and our beloved Hobbits," Gandalf said. "They no longer need to make their trek. We won't understand this but we must let the new Ringbearer do what must be done. Let this all come to pass."


	17. The Final Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the final time, they speak to one another, betraying their hearts once more.

Chapter 17 The Final Temptation

(...)

You didn't care. All that you knew was that you had to see him one last time. If you didn't say anything, if you let him go to the East, then it would torture you. It would bother and haunt you until you drew your last breath. You conscious would nag at you incessantly. To do nothing would be an insult and quite callous in your mind.

You knew the both of you were pressed for time but you had to have a few words with him. After that, you would accept the future and all that it entailed, regardless of how sad or happy it was. That was all you could end up doing in the very end of it all. It would be hard to bear but it would be necessary.

Angwen and Venarion followed after you. They rode closely behind, knowing of your intentions. They would allow this to happen for they knew that after it, they would truly be on their way home. The young duo only kept their hopes up and refined their patience. Good things would undoubtedly be in store for them if they observed such a virtue.

You rode hard and fast after the fell beast and the rider it bore. It seemed to you that he didn't seem to know you were following him. But your gaze met his at the gates and you felt your heart and stomach somersault in your body. You knew he saw you and you clearly laid your eyes upon his shape. There was no denying that contact was made even if it was brief and wordless.

He continued to fly towards Mordor. You could see that you were coming closer to the ruins of Osgiliath and so was he. The winged creature was moving at a faster pace than your horse. You were starting to become convinced that he wasn't able to see you. There was also the possibility he didn't even want to interact with you. It was a chance that saddened you but you would accept it if that was the case.

"I don't think he knows we're following!" Angwen yelled to you. "Either that or he is intentionally ignoring you, Sister!"

You pressed your mount to go even faster. The swift animal was giving its all and you hesitated to push the poor creature even harder. You had to at least try to catch up a little and see if you could draw his attention to you. You would put in as much effort as you could.

To your luck and surprise, he maneuvered his winged mount, coercing it to land in the ruins of the old, dilapidated city up ahead. You were massively encouraged by this, seeing that perhaps he had seen you after all.

"Angwen, Venarion," you instructed, "wait for me!"

They halted and waited outside of the ruins. You slowed down and gently urged your horse forward. The shape and shadow of the fell beast circled over your head momentarily. Then you could see it land a little off from you amidst a pile of rubble.

You dismounted from your horse and rushed off to where he landed. You clambered and leapt over the rubbish and disorder, being careful to not trip over yourself in your fervor to see him. As much as you desired to speak with him, you would try to make this as quick as possible.

"What is the meaning of this, Isilmë?" his voice rang out. He sounded angered but concerned at the same time.

"You must forgive me!" you replied.

Amidst the shadows of the evening, you spotted his shape. You could see him making his way to you and moving farther from his winged mount. He moved with surety and fleetness over the downed structures and littered ground around you both.

Once he was close enough, you ran to him. As soon as you got close enough, you nearly tackled him and threw your arms around his dark shape. You buried your face into the armor on his chest and held him closely. To embrace him comforted you more than you thought it would.

A few seconds later, you could feel his arms encircling your shape. He held you closer to him and he rested his chin atop the crown of your skull. The Wraith lord took a moment to savor and temporarily relax in your hold, knowing this would truly be the last time. He wanted to memorize your warmth and scent for his final foray.

"Why have you done this?" he persisted.

"I only wanted to see you one last time," you said. "I do not understand any of this. I heard you call out for Gandalf but when they went out to meet you, I didn't hear what was said. How can this all be? I thought Sauron had severed our bond or you had been slain somehow."

"I cannot stay for long for I have a great errand that needs completed. I have been freed by a power greater than Sauron. I have been granted my own mind and complete free will once more. Using those gifts, I am going to put an end to all of this."

It was practically unthinkable to you. You didn't know how it was possible. 

You were happy that he had been released at long last. Since you understood his blight and his curse, you wished for him to be released in one way or another. His mind was his own once more and no longer would he suffer Sauron's constant, heavy, overbearing yoke. Your heart was about to soar at this news and you wanted to rejoice and celebrate with him over this fortunate twist of events. Truly and deeply, you believed he deserved a reprieve from all that he had been forced to endure for so long.

But there was something else that stuck out like an aching, sore thumb as well. Although he said someone stronger than Sauron had intervened and freed him, you thought it was unbelievable. As far as you had known and been regaled, only the Valar were above the Dark Lord. You had heard of the ancient legends and stories of those powerful beings from your grandfather. From what you remembered, he always spoke of them respectfully. Yet it was your personal belief that they had long since abandoned Middle Earth. You believed that if they truly cared about this realm, they would've returned and smote Sauron for his villainy. So to hear that someone from their number had stepped in to free your consort was shocking.

"The Valar have graced you with their presence?" you asked. "Why? Could they no longer idly sit by? Are the Halls of Mandos overflowing with the dead?"

"Their creator, nay, our creator has reached out to me," he corrected you.

Your jaw dropped. Momentarily, your eyes widened enormously. For an instant, your facial expression was almost comical. You wondered if you had heard him correctly but you were more than certain he wasn't jesting with you. There was no way that he would be deceiving you at a time like this.

The Father of Elves and Men indeed was a powerful but mysterious figure. The One hardly ever intervened with the doings of Middle Earth. The last time he had done so, he plunged Númenor into the sea for the terrible crimes the corrupted and misguided inhabitants of the island had wrought. The world had been reshaped by it and the way to Valinor was now only accessible to the Elves who traveled to that blessed land, never to return to Middle Earth. Upon hearing that this almighty deity had intervened in this matter and had reached out to one soul was mind numbing. It was far more humbling than you had ever imagined or perceived.

"That is why our bond has been dissolved," the Witch-king explained. "It was forged in darkness and sanctioned by the Dark Lord. The light of The One undid it. He bestowed mercy and kindness onto me, a pitiful and lowly creature. He unshackled me and entrusted me with a new task. He selected me to become the new Ringbearer."

"You have recovered the Ring?" you said, your breathing becoming shuddered at the news.

"Yes."

Your heart raced in your chest. You had long feared that he would ensnare it and return it to his master in Mordor. If that had happened, then the Enemy would be victorious. All would be lost and there would be no hope. No one would be able to resist the engulfing darkness…

"I am going to destroy it," he said. "He bade me to seize the Ring and make my choice regarding what to do with it. I have made my mind up and I want it undone in Mount Doom. I will take it and cast it into the very fires that birthed it."

You found it so terribly cruel and vile. At last, he had been freed as you desired. But now he was using his gift to unmake the evil creation that had bound him to its true wearer thousands of years earlier. He meant to travel to the fiery mountain, cast the Ring into the inferno and end himself in the process. He was indeed doomed to die as all Men must. No matter what, he couldn't escape this Gift. The inevitable couldn't be denied or put off for too long.

"I am a fool," you bemoaned. "I wished for life and liberation for you, my love. This is truly our last meeting and it pains me immensely…"

"That is why I couldn't look at you at the city," he said. "That is why I wished you didn't pursue me, Isilmë. I couldn't…"

His words started to become muted to you. Your eyes travelled downwards slightly, feeling as if they were being pulled to something. It felt as if some invisible, compelling force was guiding you. It was completely inexplicable and it felt almost as if you weren't operating of your own accord. Normally, you would've been startled by such a thing but you felt eerily calm.

When your gaze went lower, you caught sight of a flash of gold within his robes. It was a stark contrast to the darkness of his tattered shrouds and the object appeared to gleam in the moonlight and starlight above you. You were completely spellbound and continued to observe the relic. A soft but coarse voice resounded in your mind and it spoke in a fell tongue. It felt as if a thick fog was encircling your consciousness…

The Witch-king continued to speak but he realized something was amiss. He sensed as if you were no longer paying attention to his words. You had gone uncomfortably still and quiet and he became consumed with concern and apprehension. An uneasy sensation filled his being and he couldn't ignore it. Something told him things were not well.

"So that is it," you said.

Those simple words filled him with fear. Dread churned in him and he tilted his helm downwards. Your hand was slowly reaching out, fully prepared and willing to grasp the Ring and hold it for yourself.

"That is not for you!" he said loudly and firmly.

He released you from his arms and hastily backed away. The Witch-king maintained a distance, wanting you to keep away and not come any closer. He observed you from that distance, waiting to see what more would happen. He shuddered to think what was going on inside of your head.

To his horror, he deduced that the Ring was likely calling out to you, beseeching someone else to seize it since its current bearer was deaf to it. He was filled with terror, rage and disgust all at the same time. The insidious article was attempting to ensnare you and he wouldn't let it come to pass. There was no way that he could let it taint you and ruin your innocence. He wouldn't let it tarnish you.

"Isilmë," he said. He attempted to sound imperious and unwavering but his voice broke somewhat as he spoke your name. "This is why I must destroy it. It is an accursed and wicked thing. It poisons and ruins all who hold it aside from Sauron."

"But what if we could turn it against him?" you mused. "Wouldn't that be the greatest irony and insult to our common enemy? Since you have seized the Ring, I'm sure you pondered over such things. I am not even the Ringbearer and I see all the potential it has."

"No! Stop this!"

"What if you could wear it? I am sure it would grant you great power. Perhaps you could use it against him and overthrow him with it. You could use it to dispel the darkness and plunge Mordor into ruin. You could usher in an era of peace and prosperity. You could rewrite a new legacy for yourself and regain your honor!"

This couldn't have been happening. Yet here it was, unravelling right before him.

"This is not how this works, Isilmë!" he debated. "Through and through, this thing is evil and malicious! It seeks to destroy people like us and at this very moment, it is attempting to do just that! I cannot wield it and no one else is able to do it either! It serves only one master and it wishes to ruin anyone else who possesses it! I know what this thing is capable of! My own ring was subject to it! No good can possibly come about from these trinkets and you know it! Come to your senses!"

"But you will die if you destroy it!" you argued back at him. "Do you not want to live? Do you not want to avenge yourself?"

"I should have died many years earlier and you know this! I was naïve, young and impressionable when I took my ring and I paid the price! I have suffered sorely and paid for my choice! I didn't realize until it was too late that mortality truly is a gift! I am fully aware of what is in store and I will not back down from my choice!"

He noted how your expression bore hurt and grief. Lurking beneath those feelings, he could see something heinous and uncharacteristic. For a moment, he almost thought as if he was looking into the eyes of a stranger. This was unlike you and it alarmed him immensely. He was further convinced this was the wiles of the Ring at work.

"Isilmë!" he bellowed. "Listen to me!"

The way he said your name was almost like a full blown roar akin to the winds of a disastrous hurricane. The volume of his voice had shaken you and you looked frightened by it all. You stood, stunned, feeling as if you had suddenly stepped out of the fog that had encapsulated your mind ever so recently. The words you said had indeed come out of your mouth but they didn't feel as if they were your own. Everything felt as if you had been jarred roughly to wakefulness after sleeping deeply.

Your hands trembled as you realized what had just happened. You couldn't believe what had occurred and said the words that came from your mouth moments before. Your mind felt like it had been violated and laid bare. Shame filled every crack and crevice of both body and soul.

"I am sorry for all of this," you said, your voice cracking. "I am no better than Sauron himself…"

You found yourself taking a few steps back. Revulsion was filling you to your core and you couldn't comprehend you had said the things that slipped out of your mouth. You felt monstrous and evil for trying to sway him. It had come from nowhere and it filled you with fear.

"This is why this must be done," the Witch-king resumed. Now his tone was noticeably gentler. "My dear, this is the only way. The One has entrusted me to be the new Ringbearer and I will not shrug off this responsibility he granted me. I will see this through to the end. I will die but I am fully prepared to do this." He slowly drew closer to you. "I will not squander this. I will not replicate Isildur's folly."

"Then you must go forth, my king," you said. Guilt was overcoming you and you felt the need to depart. You couldn't even look at him anymore. "I shan't keep you another moment longer. Forgive me for what I have done. I am weak and I cannot hope to stand to bear the allure of the Ring. It is a pity Men are so susceptible and weak..."

"My love."

You were turned away from him. His hand rested beneath your chin and gingerly, he turned your head to look back at him. Once he did that, he embraced you again. He set a kiss upon your lips, wanting to soothe and distract you from what had just occurred. Gladly, you welcomed it and melted into his affection, choosing to bask in it and relish it while it was going to last. It was bittersweet but you would indulge in it while you still had the opportunity.

It lasted a moment or two and then he ceased the kiss. The Witch-king still kept you close, choosing to stay a little longer.

"I need you to promise me something, my love," he said.

"What will you have me do?" you asked, ignoring the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"Do not mourn for me. I do not want you to grieve for my absence. I want you to be happy and move on. I want you to have a joyous, long and full life. I do not intend to fail and I want you to look forward to your future. You have your brother and sister as well. They will remain by your side and they will give you comfort and happiness. If it will please your heart, find another man and settle with him. Make sure he treats you well and loves you with all his heart. Make sure he will treat you like a queen. Do not settle for anything less. Do not dwell on the past and wish for me to still be there, my dear."

It hurt you more than what you thought was possible. It pained you to hear these words and know that the end was coming. Soon enough, you would never know his touch again. You would never hear his voice or feel comforted by his presence. Death would at last claim him and he would finally heed the call of the Halls. His time was nigh.

You glimpsed at the ring on your finger. Its gems glinted in the soft light emanating from above. It was still beautiful… Warmth still crept into your cheeks whenever you admired it.

Then you looked back at him.

"I shall," you said. "But I will never forget you and I will always keep this ring you gave to me. I will always remember you and you will always be dear to me. I can never discard you. I will still love you as well. I can never forget you or what exists between us."

"And I will love you too, Isilmë. I do this task for all, including you. I wish things were ideal and perfect but it is not so. Be strong and go home, my love. Good and pure things will await you. You have waited for such things and now they are waiting to be claimed."

You loathed to do it, but you let your consort go. It pained you although you knew time was precious and couldn't be wasted any further. This was truly the final encounter.

"Farewell," you said. "All I ask of you now is to cast him down and end this."

"Of course," he replied. "And do tell your brother and sister that I expect them to not give you too much trouble as they grow older."

A small chuckle came from you when you heard him say that.

"I will," you said.

"I do not want to see you again until many, many years have passed," he added. "And I mean that, my love. Live. That is all I require of you."

"I will, I promise."

"Farewell."

You let him go. Tears were coursing down your cheeks but you hardly paid them any mind. You merely stood silently and watched him walk away, making his way back to his winged mount. As much as it hurt you to see him go, you would hold your ground and wait. You didn't want to look away until he had flown towards the East and blended in with the evening sky.

You weren't prepared for the faint warmth of pride encircling your heart in that very moment. It soothed and insulated it. The sensation even managed to make you smile softly at him even in these sorrowful circumstances. Sincerely, you were happy for him. Though you would never see him again in this life, you knew it was all for the best. He was willing to make this sacrifice and you would honor it.

The dark shape of the fell beast rising above the ruins became visible. You could feel the wind around you being beaten from its wings. Your head turned upwards as you saw his steed linger above you.

"Middle Earth will have the most magnificent sunrise it has ever seen," the freed Wraith promised. His empty hood was looking down at you. "Never before will the East look so comely."

After the Witch-king said those words, he rode forth. Eastwards he flew, off to fulfill his first and only task for his newest but oldest master.


	18. Immolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ringbearer stands amidst the crack of Doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there's a bit of exploration into the Witch-king's past life in this. I've seen quite a few different theories over the years as to who he was exactly; some were pretty viable and others were just...no. LOL. Yet we have literally no idea who he is but I decided to illustrate my own interpretation of his former identity. Admittedly, even I'm a bit unsure of it but I figured it'll do for now at least. If you agree with my interpretation, great. If not, I totally get it. With the way I see it, he's a Numenorean and with him being the greatest of the Nazgul, I've got a strong feeling to believe he's possibly a member of the House of Elros. 
> 
> But that's enough of that, please enjoy and read on!

Chapter 18 Immolation

(…)

It was almost all too easy.

The Witch-king expected that he would've been waylaid by his comrades as he reentered Mordor. He thought he would be confronted by them and he would be opposed for the moment. But he suspected that because he had been closed off from Sauron and by extension, the other Nazgûl, he wasn't so easy to detect or follow for them. As they couldn't contact or feel him, it proved the same for him. It was a blessing and he took full advantage of it. If he could avoid them, he would do it. He only hoped he would remain elusive for as long as he could.

He flew as swiftly as he could into the Black Land, wanting to hurry along as humanly as possible. Any wasted, precious time would only serve to hinder his quest. He tried to stay as far away from the gaze of the Eye as he could manage. If he had been espied by the malevolent wheel of fire, he knew it would jeopardize his progress. However, avoiding the restless and ruthless gaze was far easier said than done. Fairly quickly, he noticed that the Eye seemed especially vigilant and was looking around far more than usual. It was a sign that Sauron knew something was horribly off and out of the ordinary.

A few times, he could feel the fell beast tire beneath him. The creature was becoming weary with flying so fast for so long but he urged it forward. The fiery mountain was drawing closer and closer with each mile and he wouldn't stop. He was surprised that he was starting to feel guilty for pushing this beast of Sauron like this. It might have been a grumpy and temperamental creature that had been nurtured by the Dark Lord but it was still an animal in the end.

"When I land, be free," he said to it. "You will never need to ferry me again. My destination is just ahead."

The fell beast snarled and then gurgled as it flew onwards. It bore its passenger closer to Mount Doom with each flap of its large, leathery wings. The Witch-king stirred subtly in his saddle, trying to remain patient despite the nervous energy and anxiety that roiled within him. His unseen stare was fixated on the dark mountain as he hoped and prayed all would go according to plan.

While he gazed ahead, he kept vigilant for any signs of his brethren. As far as he could see, there were no other fell beasts in sight. If he had spotted any of those creatures, he would know instantly that one of his underlings was lingering somewhere. The closer he got to the mountain, the more he could see of the area and he noticed that they were nowhere to be found. The Nazgûl appeared to be elusive and he wished it would remain that way.

Soon enough, he spotted the doorway into the crack of Doom. His gaze sharpened and he urged his mount to land by the gateway. The fell beast began to descend towards that area. It alighted somewhat clumsily, its exhaustion taking a toll on it.

As soon as its claws touched the rocks below, the Witch-king hastily dismounted. He stood before the mountain's door and peered inside, seeing the corridor that led into its interior. His right hand clenched around its precious but evil cargo.

"Be free," he commanded his terrible steed. "You will suffer me no longer."

The winged aberration snorted and shook its head. Its eyes pinned on his shape for a moment before it spread its wings once more. It hobbled off for a few dozen feet before it gently took off, gliding on the hot, dry air.

It was strange but thankfully, the way into the heart of Mount Doom was unguarded from what he could see. For a moment, the Witch-king perceived he would have to fight through the other Nazgûl to make it to the chasm. So far, it seemed this appeared to be the easiest part of the quest yet.

He walked forward, entering the doorway. His armored feet sounded against the stony bridge that led him deeper into the inferno. The heat hardly affected him at all and his resolve remained like iron and focused. This was something he wouldn't delay another moment. The heart of the mountain put no fear into him.

At any moment, he expected some sort of interference to crop up. However, Sauron's presence was still absent from his thoughts. The Ring continued to remain silent to him and he kept the accursed article imprisoned within his hand. He felt lucky and grateful that Eru had granted him the power and immunity to do this vital task. He wouldn't let the Ring escape him and he wouldn't allow this to continue any longer.

The Witch-king halted once he was only a few steps away from the precipice. He peered downwards, catching sight of the lake of boiling lava. All he would have to do is open his hand and let the Ring fall. It would be unmade and Sauron would at last be defeated. It was as simple as that…

If the Ring was to be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, then it would end the life of its master. However, it would also send off a chain reaction and the other Nazgûl would perish as well. Their rings were connected to Sauron's and it held their lives in the balance too. He too would die. At long last, his death would come. It would be four thousand years overdue but he would finally pass on.

As he stood above the cliff, he could feel his guilt starting to hold him hostage. He found himself wondering if he was fully prepared to die. Earlier, he was so sure and confident but now that the moment was at hand, he was stalling. If he was to meet his demise, he would be off to see Mandos in his Halls for judgment. The Witch-king feared what his sentence would be. He believed he would be condemned and cast into the Void for what he had done. He would face penance for his crimes and alliance with Sauron. He was unsure if he could endure an eternity with him in that dimension. It would be a grotesque twist if he would have to be subjected to the evil Maiar yet again.

Earlier, he was so stoic and driven. His confidence was unwavering and he was certain he would carry out this task without hesitation. There would be no exceptions and no faltering. He was determined to see it through to the bitter end. He thought he was empowered. But as he stood upon the brink of ultimate destiny, he hesitated. Fear for his soul filled him.

"I am nothing but a pitiable wretch," he muttered to himself. "Perhaps my maker was wrong to put so much on my being. How could he depend on me? I am one of the last creatures in all of Middle Earth to be trusted with this task."

His form stiffened when he could suddenly feel he wasn't alone. The Witch-king looked over his shoulder, seeing eight, black, robed, distinct figures making their way to him. His hold on the Ring tightened as he saw his old comrades approach. There was no way that he would let them get their hands on what he carried. If they had seized it, then he would fail.

"Be gone!" he commanded them. He drew his sword with his available hand, challenging the Nazgûl. "You will not hinder me!"

They stopped as soon as he unsheathed his blade. He leered at them, seeing that their own weapons were drawn as well. Tension was rife in the thick, searing air and none of them wanted to budge in this standoff. They were as equally poised as he was.

"What have you done?" Khamûl asked. "How can our master no longer sense you or make contact with you, Witch-king? We can no longer perceive you as well. You also feel so different. This demands an explanation!"

"I have been blessed," the lord of the Nazgûl revealed. "Take no step further."

"You were spotted leaving Mordor and making way to Gondor," one of the Nine said. "You intercepted the Halfling and suddenly you disappeared from our master's sight. You then returned and came straight to Mount Doom. Where is the Ring?"

"I have it, if you must know. I have been granted a free mind and will and I have been tasked with the Hobbit's initial quest."

One of the Nazgûl stepped forward, ready to seize the Ring from his superior. The Wraith's posture was tall and straightened, challenging his superior. A low, steady hiss came from his darkened hood.

"Give it to us!" he coerced. "You cannot be trusted!"

The Witch-king only held his ground and adjusted his own posture in return. The lord of the Nine rose to his full height, looking down upon the challenger. If he had to, he would engage and conquer each of his companions. They simply couldn't afford to defeat him or else all would be lost.

"You will only fall if you try to best me!" he warned him. His tone was imperious and gruff. This had managed to make the challenging Wraith halt and hold his ground for the time being. "Stand down! Do you not see this needs done? My brothers, you must heed me! Freedom is at hand!"

"I do not understand," Khamûl said. His voice was increasingly insistent and earnest. "How did you break his bonds?"

"Allow this to come to pass. All of you must understand this. I have never experienced such clarity and transparency like this before… We can be free forever if I toss this wretched article into the flames! I will do what Isildur should have done so long ago!"

"You will do no such thing!" one of the others cried out in ire. "You are a traitor and you will be executed like one! No longer are you our leader and king!"

The Nazgûl who had previously approached him suddenly sprang forward. He released an explosive shriek and swung his weapon, ready to duel his lord. The Wraith sped straight towards him, more than ready to strike him down and seize his master's prize.

The Witch-king quickly lifted his sword and parried the offender's weapon just in time. He traded blows with him for a few seconds before he managed to slash across the lesser Ringwraith's chest and forcefully shoved him backwards. The defeated Wraith crumpled to the floor, appearing stunned as he was overcome so quickly.

The Witch-king took a few steps backwards, edging closer to the lip of the ledge. The Nazgûl snarled in alarm and cautiously inched after him, desiring to snatch the Ring from his hand. They were fully prepared to overcome and subdue him by any means necessary to secure their master's property. They needed to.

"Take another step closer and I will throw myself and the Ring into the maw of the mountain," the Witch-king warned. "All I need is two more steps and I will be burnt to nothing along with this loathsome thing."

"It calls us and we must obey!" another of the Nazgûl shrieked. He almost sounded as if he was being tortured. "How can you be immune to it?! What is this madness?!"

The same, conquered Nazgûl sprang forward to attack his chieftain once more. He wasn't deterred by his defeat and he was eager to attain victory. Again, the Witch-king blocked him and traded a few sword strokes. Then he shoved him backwards once more, keeping him at bay for another moment. His hand still concealed the Ring from them and he would never surrender it to his fellows.

"Do not goad him further!" Khamûl hissed to his underlings. "He will cast himself into the fire. I know this to be true for I sense this is no twisted ruse. He will destroy himself and the Ring."

"Witch-king, how can this be?" a different voice asked. Out of all the others that had spoken thus far, he sounded the most calm and curious. "You are obviously ignorant to the call of our master and deaf to the voice of the Ring. How have you achieved this? You must tell us!"

"There is someone who is far greater, kinder and more merciful than Sauron and he has granted me freedom so that I may finish this errand," the Witch-king retorted. "He is beyond even the Valar. He is our maker and our true master."

They seemed to recoil at even the indirect mention of Eru's name. Even remotely thinking about The One seemed to adversely affect them. Some of them cringed and turned their invisible faces away from him. The others seemed to tremble, but whether they did so in anger or fear was anyone's guess. All of them were affected by this however.

One of the Nazgûl then abruptly howled in agony and began clawing at his unseen visage. He collapsed to his knees and caterwauled in pain. His hands rested on his head, clutching it and clearly showing how much distress he was in. Back and forth, he rocked on his knees while he yowled and screeched, sounding more like a dying animal than anything else.

For a few moments, this disturbing display continued before his unsettling clamor stopped as suddenly as it had first occurred. All was silent briefly but it didn't last for too long.

Then he stood up and turned his attention to the Witch-king.

"You!" The Nazgûl's voice was gone and was replaced by that of Sauron's. He had taken possession of this being and was now using him as a mouthpiece. "You treacherous, slippery slave! Return the Ring to me immediately! If you do so, I may grant you mercy and continue on as if nothing ever happened!"

He was here even if he was afar. His mind and will had completely overcome the weaker Wraith. Now he was a simple puppet and Sauron was a foul parasite lingering within the form of the unfortunate Nazgûl.

The Witch-king hadn't foreseen this. Momentarily, it shocked him but he wouldn't submit or cower before the Dark Lord. He had done enough of that for many years and he would never do such a thing again if he could help it. He refused to back down. Now that he was no longer dependent and chained to Sauron, he was more than ready to confront and defy him.

"My days of obeying you are gone," the Witch-king stated. "No longer will I subject myself to you. I do not answer to the likes of you anymore! Your end is at hand!"

"You cannot do this to me!" the corrupted Maiar asserted. "Have I not made you my second in command? Have I not confided in you and treated you well after all these years? What may I do to make you stand down and see some reason? You are truly in a precarious situation and you must regain your senses. This is a most unwise course of action."

"Nothing. There is nothing you can do. You tricked me, you enslaved me and you have caused so much pain and misery." His anger was compiling for as long as he continued to address Sauron. It was bursting forth and he was filled with the desire to kill him with his own two hands if he could. "You have not only wronged me but you have committed many sins against the rest of your Nazgûl! There are also the countless other souls you have extinguished and tortured through your machinations. You will answer for what you've done and you will pay the price. I am the one who holds your life in my hands! Now I am the one with the power!"

Both the Wraiths and Sauron were quiet. They only held their ground, knowing that if they dared to take a step forward, all would be lost. He was so close and he was prepared to end it all at any moment. It also appeared to them that no reason or words would break through to him. He had gone rogue and vengeance was on his mind. He was past the point of no return and reasoning would do them no good.

"Sauron…" The Witch-king let out a chuckle. "I am almost happy you decided to include yourself in this. I indeed did find the Ringbearer. I freed him from its influence and I became his successor. He had succumbed to it but I will not suffer the same fate. The One himself has granted…"

"Do not say that name!" Sauron roared. "Do not utter it in my presence! You fool, he did not show himself to you! He would never stoop so low as to reach out to a shriveled, weak, apparition! You are paltry even compared to the true might of the White Wizard!"

"My maker did speak to me. He said I am the only one who can do this now. He removed your fetid influence from my being and that is why I couldn't hear you or the Ring. He gave me back my will and using that gift, I have made my decision. There is no hope for you and I will give you no mercy. You have never dispensed mercy and therefore, you shall receive none in return."

"You imbecile, do you realize what you will do if you destroy my Ring?! You will be condemning yourself to death in the process!"

"Do you think I am not aware? My death has been long delayed but I will not deny it any longer. The time has come and I will lay myself and the others to rest. We will be free and we will not have to suffer you anymore, accursed knave. You will answer for what you've done and you will not escape what you've created for yourself."

The silence was deafening and uncomfortable. For a moment, it seemed that even the heat of Mount Doom didn't exist. The Nazgûl continued to hold their ground, afraid to come closer for fear the Witch-king would make his sacrifice. Even the possessed Wraith remained still and quiet.

Suddenly, Sauron moved his puppet forward, arduously and slowly. The Witch-king extended his arm over the ledge, threatening to drop the contents of his hand. His fingers loosened, prepared to condemn the Ring.

"Give it to me," Sauron urged. His tone was surprisingly even and calm. "If you do this, I will never raise my hand to her. You will have her once more and I will never threaten her again. She will be safe and cherished by you always and for eternity. She will be your queen forever. You can live peacefully and happily with her and I will not interfere in your doings with your wife. All you have to do is give me the Ring."

The Witch-king could feel his words resonating in him. The promise of peace and happiness tempted him greatly. His heart did very much desire such things. The prospect of reuniting with you and sharing the love that sprung forth was a wish of his. As much as he was prepared to make this sacrifice, he found himself reflecting on Sauron's words. He couldn't ignore them as his mind began to drift and dream of marital bliss and fulfillment.

"Do you remember when we first met?" the Dark Lord continued. "It was luck and fate that allowed our paths to intersect. You sought to retreat from your island home. You were at odds with the king and you wanted to linger in Middle Earth for some time to clear your mind. You were disgruntled and ashamed of his greed and his swelling arrogance. Our meeting was by chance but it was a fateful one. You were going East and I West."

Uncomfortably, the Witch-king shifted in place. The happy musings that danced about in his mind suddenly seemed to melt away. The memory of that encounter was resurfacing and it was beginning to distress him. It was seemingly innocent and harmless enough. Two strangers were passing one another on the road. He wished he had never stopped to greet the being who introduced himself as Annatar. He cursed his old self's politeness and kindness.

"The moment I crossed your path, I sensed you had much strength and potential," Sauron kept speaking. "I gave you your ring to aid you. You should've been the elder brother so you would've become Númenor's king. It was a shame that you were the younger son. You would've been a greater king than your brother if that was the case. It was a pity that even with the ring I gave you, you wouldn't achieve the kingship. You refused to usurp him and take what was yours. You fought against your gift as time went on and you tried to stall your reformation. Eventually, you became a lost prince. You disappeared, forsaking your family and your beloved home. You faked your death and they believed the sea had taken you and your vessel. Your kin never found your body and in time they gave you up for dead. In fact, they forgot you even existed. Your brother's line worsened with each new ruler and it led to Númenor's inevitable drowning."

As Sauron regaled the tale to him, he recalled it… To remember it hurt him. Shame burned hotly and brightly in him. Sadness and anger was tugging at his heart. His stance weakened and the memory tortured him relentlessly. Although the Dark Lord was a deceiver, he could also tell the truth if it served him. In this instance, the truth most certainly was an efficient and wicked weapon.

He remembered how he didn't seem to age. Life became a burdensome thing for him and nothing brought him joy anymore. In fact, everything seemed to taunt and torment him. Even the caress of the sun hurt his eyes and skin and made him feel weak and thinned out. He could no longer eat or sleep. And worse of all, he started to disappear slowly but surely before his own reflection in the mirror. The ring he was given was adversely affecting him but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. He hated it but he needed it.

Indeed, he fled and forsook his kin and his old life. He abandoned Númenor and went to Middle Earth. While there, he wandered for many years and continued to fall into shadow even more. Gradually, he succumbed further and he faded from mortal eyes forever.

And when he became unseen and trapped in the living death, Sauron and the Nazgûl came to collect him. With his addition, the circle was complete.

"When you did give in, you became even greater," Sauron pressed. Inwardly, he smirked as he could sense that the Witch-king was reminiscing and regretting. "You became greater than what you achieved in your mortal life. Eventually, you did become a king as you were destined to be. You must understand that you belong at my side. You were always meant to be my vassal. Without me, you are nothing. So, Witch-king of Angmar, come forth and return my Precious to me. Your past transgressions will be forgiven and forgotten. Let us finish consolidating our armies and allies. Let us march on the realms of Men and utterly annihilate them. Let us conquer all these lands and let all know that the power of Sauron and his mighty Nazgûl can never be contested with! Even the Valar will tremble in our wake! Come, my right hand, accept your true destiny."

The tall and dark form was unmoving. His hand was still around the Ring. Sauron's words rang inside his head, hounding his conscious. They were indeed true and that was what pained him the most.

" _I am so sorry,_ " he thought. He only wished someone from his old life could hear him. " _I was weak and I paid the price. I caused my family grief. I murdered my wife in my blind rage… I ruined myself and the lives of many others. Everything is my fault. I took that ring he offered. I should have refused. I am a king; a king of fools…_ "

It was so brief and fleeting but the Witch-king was tempted by this offer. It was all too alluring and ideal but in the end, he knew. He knew Sauron's heart and he would no longer suffer it. If he succumbed to his hollow promises and sweet illusions once again, then he deserved the worst of everything. He would not be himself if he gave in to him. He would be better off being erased from creation itself if he accepted his offer.

Not only that, he wouldn't subject you to what you feared. For as long as Sauron lived, you were at risk and he couldn't let you suffer anymore than you already had. He loved you too deeply and truly. It still guided and comforted him even during this final errand…

Everyone and everything depended on him at that moment. It was his choice and his alone. He could redeem or condemn, preserve or destroy.

It was time. He had no words to say to Sauron any longer. There was simply nothing to be said.

At last, he opened his hand, allowing the Ring to fall from it.

An unholy scream erupted from the possessed Wraith. Sauron coerced him to run and toss himself from the cliff. He was seized with desperation and in his most dire hour, he would do anything to preserve the Ring. He would not suffer this fate. What mattered to him the most was retrieving what was most precious to him. Not even the treason the Witch-king committed in front of him mattered at that moment.

The Witch-king managed to twist himself off to the side, avoiding being plowed into by the controlled Nazgûl and knocked into the pit. He couldn't even bear to look at the sight of him plummeting into the hellish chasm.

His footing then faltered as some of the weakened rock beneath him gave way from his weight. He attempted to regain his balance and control over himself but he could feel himself leaning backwards. Panic seized him and he tried to grasp at the empty but heavy air around him.

Yet he was denied that fate when he felt a sturdy hand grab onto his forearm and pull him forwards. He was yanked away from the edge and he was astonished to see that Khamûl had done this, temporarily delaying the inevitable and sparing him the fate of joining Sauron in the lava.

The Witch-king was shaken by this twist as he expected the Nine to eagerly push him in for what he had done. He had tossed the Ring and Sauron had flung one of their brothers into it to retrieve it in vain. He assumed they would be more than eager to do away with him for his traitorous ways.

"It is over," the Black Easterling said. "Nothing else can be done. I am so very tired and I would like to rest."

"The doom of the Dark Lord and the Nine is at hand," another Nazgûl added. "We will be no more in moments. Yet I am happy to be rid of this existence. I yearn for the blessing of death."

A terrible, booming roar echoed throughout the volcano. The mountain now was starting to shake and quake around them. It suddenly seemed to become hotter than ever before and the rocks at their feet appeared to be steaming. Their footing became unstable and some of them nearly collapsed to the ground as the rumbling became more intense and violent.

At that moment, they realized the Ring had finally been destroyed. They could feel it and hear it. It couldn't be denied. The hour of reckoning was at last at hand.

As soon as the Ring had been unmade, they could no longer feel Sauron's presence. His influence magically evaporated from their beings and it felt as if a great weight had been lifted off their shoulders. They felt elation and glee at this relief and freedom. Even though they knew their time was very limited, they were still happy to finally experience this relief even if it was ever so momentary. To them, it felt as if they finally awakened from the longest nightmare.

"None of you think ill of me?" the lord of the Nine asked.

"Nay," Khamûl replied, "instead, I thank you. At last, we are free. I can no longer feel his hold on me…" He fell silent for a few, brief seconds. "You have done the impossible, my friend."

The remaining Wraiths also voiced their alms and glee at finally being unbound from their enslaver. They could no longer feel or hear Sauron but they knew their joy was only fleeting. They were to die now that the Ring had been unmade yet none of them feared the inevitable. Freedom was at last theirs and that was what had mattered most to the long lost Men. Sauron was now dying and his creations would wither and crumble alongside him.

"Let us welcome whatever awaits us at the Halls," the Witch-king said. "I believe mercy will be granted to us. Our hearts will be laid out and they will judge us. They will see us for what we truly were before he deceived us. Let us no longer fear. Let us rest in peace."

"The lava is rising," one of them announced. "Let it consume us. I fear nothing now."

They steeled their immaterial hearts. The boiling lake was indeed creeping up. They knew that even if they wanted to flee, they wouldn't be able to survive the coming inferno. The mountain was about to erupt and it would destroy everything in its wake. The heat became more intense and the glow the lava gave off grew brighter. At any moment, they would be incinerated but they cared not.

"I have sorely missed my children," one of them said. His voice was almost a whisper amidst the chaos that was unfolding around them. "I would very much like to see them again and profusely apologize for what I've done… I can only hope that they have forgiven me for failing them."

"They will be happy to see you again," the greatest of them assured. "Undoubtedly, they have been waiting for you for so long. They'll be overjoyed to reunite with their father once more." He stood tall and he balled up his fists. "My brothers, it's a pity that we all had to be united for so long under such a sinister banner. We were together for many years but never did we bond. We were always mindful of each other's pain and suffering but what could be done? Now, it doesn't matter. What matters is rest and reunion. I would bid you all a farewell but we will all go there together. This is not the end."

The lava crept closer.

" _Isilmë… I am sorry it ended like this. My heart desired to have our love continued but for as long as Sauron lived, it would never be allowed. This was a necessary sacrifice and I would do it over again if I need be. He is gone and now your future is better and brighter. The world is that much safer and happier…_ "

He closed his eyes. Seconds later, his robes ignited as the temperature rose to inhospitable levels. He could feel it searing his incorporeal flesh but he made no noise. It didn't even really hurt him. He would let it consume him until there was nothing left. All he wanted was to rest.

" _Farewell, my love_."

Though his eyes were closed, he could see a light appearing before him. Steadily, it grew brighter and wasn't too harsh on his eyes. It was warm, inviting and radiated serenity and peace. It called to him.

He felt nothing more.

When he reopened his eyes, all he saw of his body was his helm as it smelted and dissolved into the liquid inferno. All traces of his form had been burnt away but he cared not.

He heeded the light.

" _Aredhel… It's me._ "

(…)

When you emerged from the ruins of Osgiliath, they asked you what had been said. It was too much for you to explain but all you could tell them was that the Witch-king was no longer under Sauron's dominion. Your brother and sister pressured you for answers and a better explanation but you withheld it from them. You promised them that when more distance was covered you would tell them about your final encounter. But what you did tell them was that he was going to make things right.

They were dissatisfied but they wouldn't argue further. Angwen and Venarion's desire to go home was far greater than to try to extract information from you. Although they were intensely curious about how the Witch-king supposedly regained his freedom and why he sought an audience with Gandalf, they would ponder over such mysteries to themselves as they travelled. Their questions would be answered later as impatient as they were about it.

Through the night, you and your siblings rode to the West. Even the dimness of the evening wouldn't deter you from making your way home. Only the light of the moon and the stars above provided you with some sort of guidance as you traveled. At this point, nearly nothing would stop your flight. All that mattered was getting as far away from the horrors of the East as possible. During your journey, the three of you were totally silent. All of you were weary and only wanted to return to the land where you had known life and happiness for so long.

For a little while now, dawn was encroaching. As you rode onwards, you could see the sky steadily become lighter. Soft, twinkling, white stars began to disappear. The dark blue and blackness of the night was gradually swapped out for reds, purples, pinks and hints of orange. The road ahead was that much brighter and clearer for you to navigate as the veil of evening thinned out more and more. Soon enough, the first rays of the sun would be creeping over the horizon and kissing the earth below.

At first, you thought nothing of this impending sunrise and kept going onwards. You recalled the words of your love before he left you but you tried not to read into it too deeply. Your aches and wounds were still deep and fresh. You resolved to remember and reflect on him when you were finally home and settled. Otherwise, it would distract you and you could afford none of it.

From nowhere, the earth began to shake beneath the horses' hooves. The steeds instantly took notice and screamed in fright and reared onto their hind legs. Despite that, you held fast to your mount and didn't slip off of its back. In vain, you tried to calm your horse down as the tremors persisted.

"What is happening?!" Venarion cried out in frightful alarm. He clung to his mount for fear of it throwing him off and bolting into the wilderness. "Is the end upon us?!"

"Easy, easy!" Angwen firmly instructed her horse. Although she was trying to remain in control, there was a definite hint of terror in her voice. "Do not get us both killed!"

Without warning, it somehow seemed as if the dawn became brighter much quicker than usual. The rumbling still continued but now it was no longer as intense and was steadily dying down. The horses were still panicked but as the earthquake dissipated, they slowly were becoming less fevered and more receptive to the soothing words of their riders.

You turned your attention to the direction from whence you came. As soon as you did that, your mouth dropped. Before your eyes, you saw a great inferno in the East. The light emitting from Mordor somehow seemed impossibly bright, almost looking as if there was a second sun in the sky. You couldn't tear your eyes from the sight and all you could do was look on in awe and amazement. Despite how terrifying it looked, it was also captivating and beautiful. It was unlike any other sunrise you had seen in all your years. You could say nothing and all you could do was stare in confusion and wonder.

Moments later, the true sun emerged from the crest of the horizon, making the glow even more luminous and intense. When that happened, you turned away, shielding your eyes from the cataclysm. It was now almost too bright to stare at directly.

"Isilmë…" Venarion murmured. The fear was evident in his voice. "What has happened? Has Sauron gained his power back? What is going on?"

The words of the Witch-king resounded in you once more. As soon as that happened, you knew the truth. You had assumed his words were merely poetic but you didn't see until then that they were all too literal. He had delivered and his task was complete.

Your head drooped and you shut your eyes. You knew right away that he was gone. There was simply no way that anything could survive what might've been certainly unfolding in Mordor at that very moment. Deep inside, you knew the truth of the matter and you sensed that he had finally passed.

"Sister!" Angwen raised her voice at you. "What is this maelstrom? What does this all mean?"

"Victory," you replied. "Sauron is no more."

When you lifted your head back up, you were met with their flabbergasted and questioning stares. They were at a loss as to what to say. There were still ignorant of the truth of the matter. Answers were more than warranted at this point.

"Come, Angwen, Venarion," you said to them. "Home is still a long ways off. We cannot stop or linger for too long."

Gently, you urged your horse to resume its journey. You turned your back to the intense light in the East and kept your eyes to the West. You only heard the clomping of your horse's hooves, telling you that Angwen and Venarion were still stationary.

"I will tell you everything," you called back to them.

As soon as you said those words, you could hear them finally following you.

You weren't sure what the history books would record exactly regarding this moment. But you made a vow to yourself that you would never forget. And you wouldn't let the truth die within the annals of your family's legacy. Forever, you would honor and remember. It was a gift that you would never squander.


	19. Ever On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed since Sauron's fall. Fall has also ushered in bittersweet recollections for you.

Chapter 19 Ever On

(one year later, October – Weathertop)

You did appreciate all of the seasons and their respective beauties and traits. Each time had its own charm that you could appreciate and cherish until said season had passed but would inevitably return in a few months time. Winter brought warm, inviting hearths and beautiful evenings where moonlight reflected and glistened off of freshly fallen snow. Spring ushered in the lovely smelling thunderstorms and the plethora of flowers that flourished off the blessing of rain. Summer promised bountiful harvests of berries, other crops and warm but lazy days spent beside creeks and beneath the shade of trees.

But as of late, autumn became all the more dear to your heart. It was chilly but pleasant. It wasn't too hot or too cold on certain days. It was a very much welcome and beloved time that you embraced all too willingly. The wind would blow through the tree's canopies, scattering their changing yet dying leaves. Shards of oranges, reds, yellows and browns would dance through the air and then gently descend to the ground below to join the many more of their number.

Amidst these fallen leaves, you knelt down and gazed upon the inscribed rock before you. Solemnly, you stared at the large boulder, your mind quiet but contemplative. The curse that was supposedly guarding this landmark had dissipated in the midst of its caster's death some time ago. The spell of concealment was no more as well. It had been that way when you first came to such a place a year earlier. It took you no time at all to find such a grim marker.

"You were born today, Lithwen," you said out loud. "It was well over twenty years ago but I remember it well. I remembered I was jealous and I thought Mother and Father were going to abandon me once they got their newest daughter." You laughed at yourself. "But Grandfather assured me I was still beloved and wanted… And eventually, I grew to love you. We grew up together but as we got older, we differed and we grew farther apart. You were always helping Mother at the house and I was always drifting between home and at the library… I sorely miss what we had, Sister. Happy birthday, Lithwen."

Privately, you had lamented over that even before you discovered she had been slain. She had always been a homemaker of sorts and she constantly was by your mother's side. Whenever she wasn't helping making meals in the kitchen, knitting or cleaning the house, she was busily working away in the garden. Lithwen was a gentle, patient and thoughtful soul and you had always admired that about her. In a way, you were almost envious of her at times. Regardless of your insecurities, you very much missed your old life.

The inscription upon the rock was something you and your siblings had added when you visited the site. The rock had been placed atop the grave after the dead had been laid to rest in the earth. Luckily, Angwen and Venarion remembered exactly where your family members had been interred and at long last you paid your respects. Upon that grave, you vowed to return at the very least once every season.

" _Here lies Aldahir, Kalahir, Marigold, Lithwen and Mitharion. May the earth cradle them and may the Valar smile on them in the West_."

That was what the inscription read. It was all you could come up with for their epitaph. The words were simple but you knew they would approve of it.

As you reflected on your sister, inevitably, you remembered and reflected upon your other relatives. For every day that went by, you wished you could hear their voices, touch their hands and look into their eyes one last time. You only wished they would've all been recovered together. You would've done anything to keep them safe if they had been brought to the dreary realm you were confided to.

Mitharion was the middle child amidst you and your other siblings. He was often fawned over by your parents as he was their sole son for awhile. While you had been initially jealous with Lithwen's arrival, you were far more welcoming of your newest sibling. You and Lithwen had often looked after the lad when you were still so young, taking him for strolls along the creek that ran nearby your home or the corn field half a mile away.

Mitharion was quiet and only spoke when he was compelled to but he was also brave and selfless. When he was no older than seven, he began to be trained in the ways of the warrior by your father and grandfather. They stressed that he needed to be the protector of the household if they were absent. Mitharion took up his duties without hesitation and he prided himself on his responsibilities.

You had always been proud of him and you felt blessed he was your brother even if you had only known him for nineteen years. Although he was some years younger than you, you always felt safer and more at ease knowing your brother was around. If things ever took a turn for the worst, you knew he would step in and defend his family no matter the cost. He was proficient with the bow and he wasn't a bad swordsman either. In the eyes of his father and grandfather, he did them proud.

"Oh, Mitharion," you muttered, "you needn't worry about anything in paradise now. Your sword and bow are forever retired. Now you may rest beneath trees and stare up at the night sky. Rest well and long, my brother…"

Marigold, your mother, was someone you had taken for granted. While you lived with her before your departure, you would occasionally squabble with her. She would sometimes condemn your academic endeavors in her frustration, saying it wouldn't serve you well in the future. She wasn't explicitly against your hobbies but she stressed that it would be harder for you to find a husband if you didn't learn and hone more homely skills. You tended to staunchly disagree with her when such issues arose. Under guilt and duress, you would help her with tasks around the house. You would help her of your own free will but at other times, you assisted her to avoid her nagging. You wanted to avoid unnecessary drama and strife with her and not expose your other relatives to such spats.

Despite this strain, you still loved her and you knew that she adored you in turn. She was warm and accommodating and she was always a shoulder you could cry upon if the need arose. She was one of your nearest and dearest friends alongside being one of your parents. Frequently, you caught yourself appealing to her, asking her to guide you as you looked after your brother and sister. You only hoped you were doing the right thing and that she was smiling upon you from afar.

"Mother, I can only hope I am doing everything properly," you whispered. "I am afraid of failing Angwen and Venarion but I am trying my hardest for them. I aspire to be as compassionate, warm and tender as you. Watch over me…"

Kalahir, your father, was a contrast of your mother and at times, you were unsure of how they even married and stayed together for that matter. He was more carefree and he was not as demanding as his wife. And for as long as you could remember, he was almost constantly optimistic about things. His smiles were more contagious than a plague and he always knew how to lift his family member's spirits. And like your mother, he was always someone you could confide in and rely upon.

He also occasionally rotated between aiding his father in his Ranger duties if need be but more than often, he stayed home with your mother. Your father was reluctant to leave you and your siblings behind for too long. He fretted and feared you would be attacked while he was away. When Aldahir wasn't present, your father was the one who trained you and your siblings in self defense and in protecting the homestead. While he wasn't as invested in the old tales Aldahir told you, your father still prided himself on his heritage. He was proud to call himself a member of the Dúnedain even if his mother, your grandmother, wasn't of their blood. Your father certainly had the heart of one and you were honored to be his daughter.

"Father, I wish I had your jovial soul," you said. "Please, enable me to lift Angwen and Venarion's spirits as you once did when they were low." You smiled softly. "Your smile was like the sun and I long to see it again one day."

And last but certainly not least, there was your grandfather. Though he almost looked to be your father's brother to anyone unfamiliar with your family, in truth, he was forty years his senior. For as long as you could remember, he was your inspiration and your hero. Even when you were a child, you looked up to him and whenever he was visiting, you followed him everywhere. He was wise, patient and watchful. Although the life of a Dúnedain Ranger of the North was a lonely and dangerous one, Aldahir always ended up returning home one way or another. He had a strong sense of duty and loyalty to his people and Chieftain but Aldahir cherished his family and would never forsake them.

You warmly recalled how you spent many nights with him, asking him about many different subjects. He would answer every question that you had and he always had something to say back to you, regardless of your interrogations or how often you repeated them. You remembered when your mother or father would scold you for questioning him too much about many of the old legends and stories he would regale to you as bedtime or campfire stories. Those were memories you were quite fond of and you knew that even when you were old and your mind was addled, you were certain you would still remember them.

"Grandfather," you sighed, "I hope you are at rest. I am home and alive. And I hope you are not frowning upon me for having fallen for what I previously perceived was one of our greatest foes. You know my heart. And if he is in the Undying Lands with you, then you know his heart as well. Forgive him, Grandfather. I have."

You wiped away some tears that streaked down your face. The pain of the loss still lingered and you knew it would remain for many more years. Every day you missed them and you knew it would remain that way until your time in Middle Earth had ended. You took comfort in the belief that you would see them again. With the way you saw it, life was temporary and a mere gateway to what awaited beyond mortality.

You had finished paying your respects and you knew you had to move along. It was growing darker as the day wore on. You had to make your way back to Bree. From Bree, you would head for the library.

One more time, you glanced at their tomb. A small sigh came from your lips and you at last turned your back on the engraved marker. You began to make your way down the hill they were buried atop of.

Amidst the trees, you could see a familiar shape. She was waiting for you just as she said she would. While she waited, she was sitting on a downed, mossy log. A book was opened on her lap and her head was tilted downwards, hinting that she was still reading.

As you drew closer, she raised her head. Her vivacious but kindly blue eyes looked back at you. She closed her book and she walked over to meet you.

"Everything is alright?" she asked.

"Yes, Veronica," you answered. "Again, thank you for accompanying me."

"It's my pleasure. If you're coming through Bree, I must follow. We had been separated for some years and I want to catch up on all the time that was lost between us."

The blonde haired woman outstretched her arms and embraced you. She held you to her and she rubbed your back, wanting to soothe and console you. Seconds later, she could hear you sniffling ever so silently into her shoulder. As soon as she heard you, her eyes watered up as well.

"I knew every single one of them," Veronica said. "I grew up with you and your siblings. When I found out what happened, I was heartbroken as well. But it was all a pleasure to know them for as long as I had."

Arguably, Veronica was your best and closest friend. You had known her from early childhood and you grew up together. For many years, you two enjoyed each other's company. You two were polar opposites in some aspects but that didn't hinder your friendship at all over the years. You were more bookish while she was more adventurous. While you were happy to learn and daydream about the old tales you were regaled, Veronica desired to play dress up or flirt with whatever boy had caught her fancy for that day. The two of you had spent many days frolicking in the nearby woods and spent many nights staying out late stargazing and catching fireflies. Things were good, pure and innocent all those decades ago.

However, as you got older, adulthood complicated things. You two began to see each other less and less. About two years before you were whisked off to Minas Morgul, it was the last time you had seen Veronica. For that time, you missed her and considered visiting her in Bree where she lived but your grandfather advised you to stay home or close to it as much as you could. You wouldn't contest against his wishes and he was reluctant to let any of his relatives to head to that ancient town anymore. His explanation was that strange and shifty folks were frequenting Bree and he didn't want his family members to get tangled up with those malcontents.

But when you finally returned to your home, you desired to reconnect with Veronica. You found comfort in her energy, familiar face and the lovely, shared memories. You wanted to relive some semblance of nostalgia and happiness by seeing her again. And you didn't regret that wish.

She too was delighted to reunite with you and the both of you vowed to never grow apart again. Whenever you were at the library, she visited you or whenever you were passing through Bree, you sought her out. Even if your encounters were brief, it was simply nice to see one another.

"It will be easier to deal with the grief one year at a time," you said. "Time will heal wounds and make them scar but they never completely go away."

"You have your brother and sister," she reminded you.

"I know and I am blessed to have them."

"I reckon we all ought to be happy with what we have. It could've been so much worse."

Although she could be ditsy and airheaded at times, she was also wise when it called for it. You knew she spoke the truth about this matter.

"I must remind myself of that," you said.

"I will do it for you," she smiled gently. She then released you. "Come, we ought to hurry back to Bree. You may stay overnight at my home and head out to the library in the morning."

You two headed over to the area where you left your horses to graze in a small glen. From a distance, you could see them and they appeared to be as tranquil and as content as when you left them. They were quiet and peacefully chewing away on some grass.

It wasn't a long walk at all and within a minute or two, you were at the steeds' sides. Veronica mounted her favored, white dappled horse that she had aptly named Flurry.

The horse you had was the same one you were given when you left Minas Morgul. He was a surprisingly gentle and patient horse despite the fact he had come from such a dark and wretched realm. He was also colored black all over. Due to his coloration, you had bestowed the name Midnight onto him. No other name seemed right to you.

"I do not mind travelling at night at all," you said. You smiled gently at Midnight and patted his neck. The beast snorted softly and gave you a brief nuzzle. "I have no fear of the dark. The only fear I have of it is what may lurk within it."

"All the more reason for you to stay!" Veronica debated. "You may make me stressed if you persist with this. I will end up with a gray stripe just like you, Isilmë! I still cannot believe you were afflicted with such a thing. It must be annoying."

The two of you mounted your respective horses and made your trek back to the old town. If you kept a decent pace, you would be able to make it to Bree before it got too dark. If that was the case, you would make haste and sleep overnight at the library. You had absolutely no qualms with that. In fact, you looked forward to it.

"The Orcs and strange Men are long gone but you still must watch out for vagabonds," Veronica noted. "We ladies are perfect prey!"

"Order has been reinstated and soldiers are always about, making sure that things are safe and sound," you said. "Because peace has been restored, I have little to fear now."

"Isilmë, you can never be too careful. Gondor finally has its king but only a year has passed since his coronation. We are all trying to adapt to this new age."

"Trust me, Veronica, the evil is dispersed. The darkness in the East will never rise again and the Orcs have retreated to far flung and secretive places. They might delve into the northern mountains and never emerge from them again so long as the dominion of Men persists. Peace is finally here and I intend to enjoy it."

"Brandir has spoken much of what happened in the East, in Gondor and Mordor."

"You have been spoken much of Brandir yourself." You chuckled and gave her a sly grin. "Is that Gondorian soldier the keeper of your heart now?"

Veronica's cheeks darkened rather swiftly and they looked as red as sun-ripened tomatoes. She tried to maintain an obstinate frown but she failed miserably. Instead, a smile shyly started to grace her features.

"Maybe," she said, "it is still too early to tell. But he has said that no army of Gondor or Rohan toppled the Lord of Mordor. No, he swore he was witness to a strange spectacle outside the gates of Minas Tirith."

"And what was that?" you asked.

"Do you recall those ghastly black riders that were roaming and terrorizing everything around here?"

"I do."

"Brandir swore to me that the king of those riders strode up to the gates of the White City. He met with the king of Gondor and the wizard, had words with them and then he rode off to Mordor. He met them at dusk but when dawn came, the lord of the East was overthrown. This so called Witch-king betrayed his master and brought ruin to Mordor. Personally, I thought he was a myth. I thought all those stories about the old witch realm of Angmar were used to scare children into behaving. My grandmother always used to tell me; 'Veronica, behave or the Witch-king will kidnap you! You'll be taken to his frozen fortress in the far North and never be seen again'. I knew she was mad but I never believed her. Yet it appears he does exist after all!"

You had already heard of people gossiping about the matter. Before the news spread throughout the lands, you were unsure what the official announcement about Sauron's downfall was going to entail. You assumed they would come up with some fabrication and not tell the truth for whatever reason. Perhaps they would refuse to believe that a Nazgûl would actually do such an uncharacteristic thing. Maybe they were unwilling to believe what they had witnessed with their own eyes.

When you eventually found out that they gave the Witch-king credit for his role, you were shocked. They had honored him. The official statement was that Sauron was betrayed by his own right hand and was destroyed as a result of that action. Not everyone knew about the Nazgûl so many were confused as to who the right hand of Sauron was so to speak. But to those who were familiar with those Wraiths, they were astonished by this turn of events. Never could they have foreseen that such a thing would come to pass.

When you found out, you were at peace. You were happy they honored his sacrifice. Deeply, you believed he deserved it. Your heart was lightened by it and it also tickled you that it would go down in history as well.

"That is quite the occurrence!" you stated. "Life is full of surprises."

"I know," Veronica concurred. "I never would've expected the likes of those nasty, cloaked creatures to do such a thing. You know, I thought about going to the Prancing Pony that night too! I'm glad I decided to stay home and not get caught in the rain! If I went, I surely would've been filleted by one of those shadowy rogues!"

She had no idea that you had been kidnapped and ferried off to Minas Morgul. Veronica was completely ignorant of your ordeal and she had no idea of your marriage to the Witch-king. You intended to not disclose the matter to her. Perhaps in the future, you might divulge the truth to her but for now, you wanted to let the past remain in the past. You preferred to keep it that way and your siblings helped you to maintain that charade.

Back when the Nazgûl and Orcs began to terrorize and orchestrate some attacks of the areas around Bree shortly after the assault on Minas Tirith, your family had been displaced. Veronica and her family remained in Bree and many of its residents had lingered there as well during this terrifying tenure. The town was effectively besieged for some time and no one left out of fear for their own lives.

Only when you and your brother and sister finally returned to your old home did she find out what happened. You only told her that you and your family had been on the run and most of your family died during this time. You three were the only survivors. And since you told her that story, you left it at that. Veronica didn't press matters about it and she believed your tale.

"But none of that matters," she continued. "We will never see the likes of those faceless enigmas again."

"It is all for the best," you commented. "Now there is peace and reconstruction. We have a chance to be at ease and not fear."

"Perhaps we should visit the East at some point! You cannot remain chained to that library forever. I know that Mr. Elderberry retired when you returned and turned over the proprietorship of the library to you but you can't let it rule you, Isilmë. You can certainly have a life outside it."

"Oh, you may go, Veronica, but I intend on staying here for a few years at the very least. I have been displaced for awhile and I am still not sick of my home. I do not mind running the library, it is peaceful and it gives me something to do. And I did promise Mr. Elderberry I would take good care of his establishment."

"Ever the bookworm, my dear." She snickered and tossed you a playful grin. "Perhaps if I marry Brandir, we will honeymoon in Gondor. That would be terribly romantic. I will see the East one way or another in some way."

"Brandir has only been posted here for a few months."

"But he is a handsome, good and strapping young man! He does not horse about like the other men and he has a level head on his shoulders! I am certain my father would let me wed him! He will see he is good marriage material!"

"So long as you two are content, I suppose I will not judge you."

"You have met him and you have approved of him! I do not care much for the opinions of others and what they may say about me. But I do value the feedback of those closest to me."

"If you do take his hand in marriage, I will be there with you on your wedding day. I will bless you both and I will wish you all the luck and happiness in the world. And I mean that sincerely, Veronica."

The girl smiled brightly and she laughed lightly. Her cheeks flushed and you could tell that she was flustered and touched.

"Actually, I think a double wedding would be magnificent!" she said. "We must find a man for you, my dear!" There was mischief in her eyes. "If my dearest friend and I get married together, it would be a dream come true! We can also raise our children together and they will be friends to each other as we are!"

Now she was just acting asinine. For the time being, there were far more important things than marrying and settling down. You also wouldn't tell her you were indeed widowed. You had even removed your ring when you came home. You resolved to keep the ring secret and safe so no one outside of your brother and sister would find it. If that was the case, you feared people would start questioning and prodding at matters you wanted to keep concealed.

Once in awhile, you would reflect on the Wraith lord's parting words. He urged you to move on and not look back. He wanted you to be happy and continue on with your life. Indeed, you intended to do so. But you continued to miss him and it still hurt. You weren't sure how long it would take for you to open your heart up and look for love. But for now, it wasn't your greatest dilemma. What mattered was healing and making sure you and your siblings were satisfied with their current circumstances.

For now, you would focus on what you thought was most important. All else could wait.

(…)

The moon was full and high in the sky. It was a clear and luminous night and it was a perfect evening for travelling. The visibility was sufficient enough and it granted you enough light to navigate with. Although it was October, there were still nocturnal insects that sang into the night. They would continue to sing for a few more evenings until their symphony would fade and reappear at summer.

It all reminded you almost too much of that night. Never did you ever suspect that what came to pass would even occur. You hadn't wished for it or wanted it but you emerged reborn. Three years had passed since that incident.

A part of you felt guilty for deciding to head straight to the library and not ride a few more miles and come home. But you already told your brother and sister you would most likely not return on this night. You trusted Angwen to watch over the home in your absence. You promised them that you would come home the next day after opening the library for a few hours. You also encouraged them to drop by if need be. It was more than likely that they wouldn't but you still wanted to invite them if the need ever arose.

Angwen and Venarion had happily settled into their old lives and adapted into newer roles. When your family was complete, your sister previously shirked off household duties and would avoid them whenever possible but now she was far more willing to help maintain the house. Whenever you were busy at the library, she watched over the home and Venarion. She had mellowed out somewhat in this age of peace but she was still fiery at times. There was still a stubbornness and zest in her but she was also more compliant and helpful. You could tell that she was trying to be helpful and you appreciated her efforts massively.

She had also come to prize the weapons she received before leaving Minas Morgul. Although those armaments were daggers, she still treasured them and declared that they were relics and could end up being highly sought in a few decades or so. Since acquiring those blades, she decided she would start to take up a new hobby and collect weapons. Initially, you wanted to frown upon her desire but you let it go. You didn't want to restrain her and lead to her becoming spiteful over the matter.

You also reminded her to not speak of your time in Minas Morgul to anyone outside of you three and she agreed to keep the tenure a secret. Angwen was tempted at first to gloat and tell of her time in the dreaded citadel but you convinced her to remain quiet. The last thing you wanted was attention and as you reasoned with her more about it, she too saw it was most likely a wise decision.

Venarion had also adjusted to his new circumstances. It suddenly appeared to you that he seemed to have grown up overnight. He was growing rapidly before your eyes and you knew manhood was encroaching. You reckoned that within a few years he would be taller than you were. It was a sobering thought but you would also be proud of him. His flourishing was a most welcome blessing.

He had also taken up archery and was becoming skilled with the bow. It impressed you and already he reminded you so much of Mitharion. Venarion explained that as the only remaining male in the house, he felt the need to step up and contribute to their new living conditions. He also went out hunting on his own a quite a few times already. Usually, his spoils consisted of some hares and pheasants. He had even taken down a deer but he required assistance with hauling it back home for processing.

Whereas Angwen hardly seemed affected by your stay in Minas Morgul, Venarion suffered some repercussions. Every once in awhile, he would have nightmares and there were a few incidences when you had to hold him in your arms until he calmed down. Those nightmares mainly consisted of him being chased by Orcs but he would sometimes dream about the slaughter that claimed your family. You only hoped that these foul reveries would cease tormenting as he got older. Although he had these dreams and would sometimes dwell over his captivity, he had become a happier and livelier boy.

In the distance, you could see the silhouette of the familiar building ahead. As you got closer, you could make out the wooden fence as well.

"You'll sleep well, Midnight," you whispered.

You dismounted from your horse. Gently, you grasped onto the reins and you led the great, dark steed. He followed you, eager to rest and wind down for the night as much as you desired to.

Once at the gate, you unlocked it and pushed past it, bringing Midnight with you. Then you shut it and started to remove the horse's gear. The beast seemed appreciative of the gesture and the freedom he was being bestowed.

"The rest of the night is yours, my friend," you smiled and rubbed his snout.

The horse nickered softly and gently trotted off to graze a little before resting.

Assured, you made your way up to the library's entrance. While still holding Midnight's saddle and other equipment, you fiddled through your pocket for the key. You only struggled for a moment or two before you fished it out and stuck it into the keyhole.

It clicked loudly as it unlocked and you turned the door handle. You pushed the door open and as soon as you walked in, you unceremoniously dropped Midnight's gear to the floor. You brushed it off, knowing it wouldn't go anywhere. Everything could wait until the morning as far as you knew.

Once your hands were free, you closed and locked the door behind you. Now you stood in the cozy but darkened library. It soothed you and you felt as if you could collect your thoughts. Peace filled you and a small smile came upon your face.

You pulled the drapes across the windows in the immediate area. After doing that, you lit a few candles. The collective flames gave off a soft glow but it was enough for you to work with.

When that was done, you made your way over to your desk. A mess of papers and books were strewn over it. You sat down and briefly poured over the unsightly and chaotic array. You were sure you had cleaned it up a little better than this before you left to go visit your family's grave. You cursed yourself at your marked laziness and made a mental note to not be so careless and sloppy next time.

Before you departed, you had been doing research. In fact, ever since you had inherited this establishment from your old family friend, you had been pouring over the old texts and tomes in this collection. You were already aware there were hardly any books that pertained to the Second Age but you were reminded of just how low that number was until you actively began to delve into the matter that was currently consuming you.

The history of Númenor was a subject that not many knew about, particularly in the West of Middle Earth. The matter was far more respected and remembered in Gondor but even now, a lot of that old lore and knowledge was lost to the ages. Even your grandfather didn't know everything about the fallen, sunken kingdom of Men and his knowledge was passed down to what his own father had regaled to him by his father and so on and so forth. There were mentions of the lost island in the books you had perused but they were fragmentary and rather poor. It was clear to you that the authors didn't know much about the old nation at all.

But what you desired the most out of this confusing conundrum was a complete record of a family tree. Specifically, you wanted a genealogy pertaining to the ruling House of Elros. The matter of the kings, queens, princes, princesses and other lords of Númenor was what truly concerned you. If you could locate an exact, particular point of time in that family's long history, it'd also further help your search. You also told no one else about your little project and you preferred to keep it that way for now.

What you sought wasn't in your collection. More and more, you began to realize that you would have to travel to Gondor to acquire the information you sought. You would only hope that you would be granted access to the old archives. You would merely jot down notes and peruse through the ancient texts and accounts. Once you found what you sought, you would go home and hopefully you would return to the West a little wiser.

A heavy sigh came from your lips. Your eyes wandered, scanning over the cluster of papers and books that were spread about in front of you once again. Your gaze stopped when you saw a note you had penned nearly a year ago.

" _It still hurts. I am happy for him and I am glad he finally has won peace and freedom. But my heart aches something terrible. I see him in the gentle shadows cast by the trees by moonlight. I hear him in the whisper of the wind. I feel him in my dreams. I promised I wouldn't dwell, that I wouldn't look back. I am trying so hard but I feel like I'm failing. I simply cannot banish him from my thoughts forever_."

You shook your head and turned the note over so you wouldn't look at it anymore. When you did that, you could see more writing on another piece of parchment beneath the one you just read. This one was from early spring.

" _Am I obsessed? Am I a disgrace? I can't stop. I still miss him. I love him. I can't disclose this to anyone. This is my burden and mine alone. I will suffer alone. I have also decided to burn these notes whenever I finally find the courage and strength to overcome this. I will move on and harden my heart_."

Like the earlier writing, you pushed this one off to the side as well. You deemed you couldn't be so careless and leave these telling and intimate notes out. They needed to be guarded and kept safe from any prying eyes that included friends, family members and patrons.

Gently, you picked them up and stuffed them into your binder. At least they would be contained and out of sight. After that was done, you'd put it somewhere safe and keep them to yourself.

You paused when you grabbed the last of the papers. Out of curiosity, you glanced at it, wondering which of the assortment of many you had selected. This particular one was composed in May, on that fated anniversary. It was only a few months ago.

" _I find myself pondering over this matter continuously. I know he wouldn't approve of this but I cannot help it. I was bound to him and yet I never knew him. I never knew his name. I never saw his face. I feel as if this is an injustice and I cannot rest until I try to find out more. I have to try to discover who he was. Even if the truth is ugly and shocking, I must know it. I am prepared and I will not deviate from this. Forgive me, my love. I will indeed move on but you have made such an impression on me and it can never be undone. I want to know who you are. I cannot wait until I have passed to know. Have patience with me_."

You reread it again and then gently stuffed it into the leather binder. All of these notes were the fruits of a new hobby you had taken up since your return. Writing down your inner thoughts was therapeutic for you and from time to time, you would read them over again. It was sometimes painful to do so but you felt a little better.

It was getting late but you were reluctant to sleep. Your conscious nagged at you, encouraging you to try again with your research. Yet you reminded yourself once more that your current resources were limited and incomplete which frustrated you further. Minas Tirith was far away and you couldn't drop everything and leave on this whim. You also had no desire to part from your brother and sister for too long.

Now you were starting to suspect if you were supposed to not know. You wondered if you were to remain ignorant of his true name and identity until you met him again in the Undying Lands. Perhaps you needed to exercise patience. As much as you wanted to be obstinate and force yourself to delve deeper into the old histories, you saw that for now, it was unobtainable…

You nearly leapt out of your chair when an abrupt thump sounded from the adjacent room. Your body was frozen and you remained perfectly still and silent. Intently, you listened, half expecting to hear footsteps or some other sound. But to your surprise, nothing else happened. It was so quiet, you thought you could hear the wax melting as the flames atop the wicks still burned.

Slowly, you got up. As silently as you could, you grabbed one of the candles atop your desk. Then you tried to rummage through your satchel, looking for your dagger. A few seconds later, you retrieved it and made your way to the area where the sound came from.

Cautiously, you rounded the corner, your candle casting light in the darkened room. As far as you could tell, you couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. You highly doubted if anyone had previously broken in before you arrived and was waiting to ambush you. There was nothing worth stealing in the library.

As you looked harder, you finally found something out of place. A book had fallen from the shelf and was opened on the floor. You let out a sigh of relief, seeing that it was only that. You deemed either you or a patron had been careless and hadn't put away the book properly.

You set aside your dagger, seeing there was no need for it. Kneeling down, you picked up the book and took a glance at what page it was opened to.

"… _it was said that Tar-Ciryatan was the first of the kings of Númenor who became greedy and unsatisfied with what he and his people had been blessed with by the Valar. The Shadow first started to form over Númenor during his reign. He oppressed lesser Men and tensions between the Elves and the Númenoreans became strained. It was whispered that he forced his father, the previous king, Tar-Minastir, to abdicate and hand the scepter over to him. It was also rumored that Ciryatan's actions caused strife amongst some of his own kin and they became estranged from him_ …"

You kept your finger on that page and then closed the book. The title of the work was called " _Discussions of and a Brief History of Númenor_ ". As you investigated this book further, you discovered it was penned by a man simply known as Beleg of Minas Ithil. You had never heard of this individual before but you were massively intrigued already.

You then flipped the book open to the first page. Your curiosity was piqued and a smile started to form on your face. Eagerly, you began to read on.

" _I, Beleg of Minas Ithil, was once the keeper of the archive of the Tower of the Moon. As of now, it has fallen into shadow and disrepair. Now it is irretrievable and ruined. It deeply saddens me to even write these words but I shan't conceal the vulgar and uncouth truth._

_The destroyer of Arnor has long besieged us and he had finally taken our lovely stronghold a week ago. We may have lost our fair home but I have taken vengeance upon the dreaded Wraith king of the North. Before he and his forces seized this citadel, we have burned everything in the archives. I simply couldn't let the thralls of Sauron lay their hands upon our knowledge. Minas Ithil's library is no more and these Nazgûl need not know of our dear histories and accounts. It makes me sick to think how they could perversely use it against us._

_After we had done this act, we fled through the tunnels beneath the citadel. Not many know of them and we certainly will keep this secret from all. In the wrong hands, this knowledge could prove to be perilous. If I can allow this secret to die, I will do so._

_When we escaped and fled to Minas Tirith, we sought audience with the king immediately. I confessed to him what I had done to the archives. It pains me to recollect upon it but I knew it was all necessary. King Eärnil and his son, Eärnur, pardoned me for this action however. The king was grieved to know of this but he said it was also necessary. Conversely, the prince was far more vocal about his appreciation. Despite it all, they were pleased that I had denied the Witch-king of Angmar from scavenging any tomes and books to use for his own nefarious purposes."_

You could hardly believe you were reading this. The only "library" you had come across while there was the small assortment of books and literature the Witch-king kept in his study. He hadn't even told you that Minas Morgul once had an archive before he had taken control of it. It was likely that after he had found it destroyed, he sealed the chamber since it no longer served a use. It was probably sealed and then forgotten about for hundreds of years.

But what surprised you the most was that you were even holding this book. You had never come across or seen this thing before and you had frequented this library for many years. It mystified you.

_"But in this book, I have chosen to write and discuss what I had studied and learned of Númenor. Unfortunately, I had to destroy all in the collection regarding our homeland but I will try to record and jot down all I can recall from those writings. I am sure it will not be sufficient enough but this is the least I can do. I know Minas Tirith has its fair share of knowledge and accounts of that sunken nation but I if I can add to its collection I will be happy. And if this proves to be of use to someone, then it helps even more so_."

This book belonged in the White City. You literally had no idea what something like this was doing in a small, quaint library some miles outside of Bree. Some part of you felt guilty for even holding this in your hands. But you assured yourself that if it was here, it was here for one reason for another. Perhaps after you were done with scouring it, you would send it back to Minas Tirith.

"Beleg of Minas Ithil, you are a blessing," you murmured. "Thank you."

A smile shone on your face, pleased by this reversal of bad luck. You made your way back over to your desk and seated yourself, still holding the book. It was a start and you finally had something to work with. You had no idea what you would find or if you would even find anything of use at all. But some information was better than none. In the end of it, you hoped to call him and remember him by his true name.

It would be a long night. The only things that kept you company were the silent books, the dancing flames and an unseen shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'm sorry it took me a bit to post the final chapter. I've had some computer/tech issues happen and I was at a loss as to how to wrap up this story. I'm just happy to finally have this completed.
> 
> I give everyone kudos for sticking to this story til the end if you've come this far. Thank you everyone for reading and giving kudos and comments as well, it's appreciated. If anyone has any constructive criticism, please, feel free to share it. I only aim to try to get better!
> 
> I've also thought about possibly posting another Witch-king/reader fic at some point. I know I want to do a oneshot for sure but I have a few sequel series in mind but they're fragmentary at best and I still need to think long and hard about them. But you guys are feel free to add input regarding that as well so I can get a better idea of what to do. For now, it's all up in the air.
> 
> Again, thank you and I hope you've enjoyed this story! :)


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